./AX 


The  Street  of  a  Thousand  delights 


The  Street  of  a 
Thousand  ^Delights 


By  JAY  GELZER 


New    York 


.   ZMcBride  &  Company 


Copyright,       1921,      by 
ROBERT    M.    McBuiDE    &    Co. 


Printed       in       the 
United     States     of     America 


Published     June,     1921 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Chinese  Lily 1 

The  Blue  Eyes  of  Wang  Hai    ......  31 

In  the  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights  ....  67 

The  Gorgeous  Jest 101 

"Mei-Li  the  Beautiful" 131 

China  Rose .     .     .  165 

"  The  Gold  Lacquered  Box 195 

A  Prince  of  China .  235 


21 2 


THE   CHINESE   LILY 


THERE  is  no  reason  whatever,  at  first 
glance,  why  the  thoughts  of  Sen  Yeng,  fat 
John  Chinaman  sitting  in  the  doorway  of 
his  shop  in  Melbourne  like  some  obese  spider 
awaiting  unwary  prey,  should  roam  out  per 
sistently  to  Nels  Larsen,  striding  to  and  fro 
over  the  narrow  bridge  of  a  tramp  steamer 
laboring  through  heavy  seas. 

To  look  at  Sen  Yeng  in  his  black  satin  coat 
and  skull  cap,  his  face  with  its  three  chins  plac 
idly  benignant,  is  to  imagine  that  his  reflec 
tions,  perhaps  faintly  tinged  with  poppy  smoke, 
are  of  cormorants  fishing  in  the  rivers  of  Soo- 
chow,  or  of  soft  breezes  blowing  through  pa 
pery  leaves  of  bamboo  with  perhaps  the  slim 
sickle  of  a  new  moon  overhead ;  or  even  of  tem 
ple  bells  at  twilight,  their  soft  mellow  tones 
mingled  with  the  voices  of  shaven-headed,  scar 
let-robed  priests  chanting  in  the  dusk. 

And  to  look  at  Sailor  Nels  with  his  bold  blue 
eyes  is  to  imagine  him  living  over  again  some 
bout  in  a  barroom  thick  with  smoke,  or  think 
ing  back  to  kisses  won  and  taken  in  various 

[3] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

lands.  A  gay,  laughing  life,  that  of  Nels  Lar- 
sen,  mate  of  the  Sallie  0.,  not  overburdened  with 
regrets  or  colored  with  sentiment.  Yet  in  the 
blackness  of  the  midnight  watch  he  is  apt  to 
fondle  a  bit  of  rare  carven  jade,  and  to  him 
the  perfume  of  sandalwood  is  bittersweet, 
bringing  back  as  it  does  the  vision  of  a  flushed 
face  with  wide  dark  eyes  and  blue-black  hair 
winding  into  the  curls  of  the  Occident  and  the 
sound  of  a  lisping  voice  trilling  out  in  the  lan 
guage  of  lovers. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  reason  why  the  thoughts 
of  Sen  Yeng  follow  Nels  Larsen  half  across 
the  world.  The  Chinese  Lily  represents  the 
reason,  and  to  get  at  the  story  of  Lily  it  is 
necessary  first  to  go  back  a  term  of  years  and 
tell  a  little  of  the  story  of  her  mother. 

She  was  at  least  nine-tenths  white,  that 
mother  of  Lily,  and  upon  whose  shoulders 
should  rest  the  blame  for  that  mixture  of  blood 
has  never  been  known.  But  because  of  it  both 
races,  yellow  and  white,  disowned  her,  and  she 
had  a  hard  life  of  it,  hanging  around  on  the 
utmost  fringe  of  tolerance,  accepting  the  kind 
words  which  fell  to  her  lot  with  gratitude,  and 
accepting  the  far  too  frequent  blows  and  abuse 
with  a  sort  of  cowed  lack  of  protest.  They 
say,  those  few  who  really  knew  her,  that  she 

[4] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

would  have  liked  to  be  honest,  that  whatever 
depths  of  degradation  she  slipped  into  were  the 
result  of  her  youth,  her  forlornness,  and  the 
fixed  inequality  of  the  struggle  between  the 
sexes.  And  that,  regardless  of  the  black  chap 
ters  in  her  sordid,  unclean  youth,  there  yet 
olung  to  her  a  sort  of  fastidiousness  and  gen 
tleness,  together  with  a  frail  beauty  pitiful  in 
its  wistfulness. 

However  that  may  be,  the  beauty  of  Mamie — 
that  was  what  she  called  herself,  and  it  was 
as  good  a  name  as  any — bloomed  upon  inap- 
preciative  eyes  in  the  public  house  of  Sidney, 
where  she  was  first,  and  in  Melbourne,  to  which 
she  came  later.  To  those  demanding  ruddy 
cheeks,  bright  eyes,  buxom  figures,  and  lively 
repartee,  her  white,  little,  heart-shaped  face, 
her  too  large  eyes,  her  delicacy  of  line,  the 
pathetic  showing  of  fine  bones  in  her  tender 
throat,  even  her  wonderful  bronze  hair  failed 
to  appeal.  Life  crowded  her  relentlessly 
against  that  wall  beyond  which  lies  annihila 
tion.  And  stubbornly,  with  that  gameness 
which  characterized  her  from  the  beginning, 
Mamie  employed  all  her  resources  in  a  losing 
battle,  although  as  she  herself  discouragedly 
said : '  *  Gawd  knows  why  I  'm  that  bent  on  keep- 
in*  breath  in  this  yere  body  o'  mine.  I  ain't 

[5] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

found  life  what  yer  might  call  no  bed  o '  roses ! ' ' 

Only  Nat  Hong  Ku,  wealthy  Chinaman  in  the 
Chinese  quarter,  upon  whose  poetic  vision  she 
had  dawned  with  the  loveliness  of  a  lotus  flower 
newly  unfolded,  or  of  a  willow  tree  suddenly 
clothed  in  the  tender  leafage  of  spring,  realized 
to  the  full  that  wistful,  hungering,  pathetic 
beauty,  the  contemplation  of  which  filled  him 
to  overflowing  with  sheer  delight. 

Sometimes,  on  his  quick,  silent  progress 
through  a  crowd,  he  glimpsed  her  face  briefly 
as  some  far  off  star  shining  in  the  murk.  And 
always  the  tiny  shiver  of  sheer  delight  ran  like 
flame  through  him  as  he  pictured  to  himself 
that  beauty  freed  of  the  eclipse  of  cheap  finery 
and  furnished  with  the  proper  setting.  Before 
the  resulting  picture  his  artistic  senses  quivered 
with  appreciation.  Even  in  his  folly  he  con 
sidered  the  idea  of  marrying  Mamie,  but  Sun 
Yat,  the  yellow  soothsayer,  advised  against  the 
match. 

"Only  from  the  tree  which  is  sound  cometh 
sound  fruit!"  he  intoned,  quoting  an  ancient 
Chinese  proverb  as  he  cast  down  a  handful 
of  painted  ivory  sticks  and  showed  Nat  Hong 
Ku  that  the  omens  were  unfavorable. 

"True,  0  Honorable  Brother!"  responded 
Nat  Hong  Ku  cannily.  "And  how  should  a 

[6] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

tree  be  judged  unless  by  the  fruit?"    Where 
upon  he  put  the  idea  out  of  mind. 

And  there  perhaps  it  all  would  have  ended, 
except  that  there  came  a  day  when  Mamie, 
walking  up  the  road  from  the  waterway,  shiver 
ing  a  bit  in  the  raw  air  in  her  thin  jacket,  the 
wilted  ostrich  feather  trailing  from  her  hat,  as 
jaded  in  appearance  as  she  was  in  spirit,  ac 
knowledged  the  game  was  up.  She  was  penni 
less  and  she  was  tired.  And  she  was  cold  and 
hungry.  The  night  before  a  sailor  from  an 
unknown  ship  had  first  cheated  her  with  prom 
ises  and  then  filched  her  purse  and  what  cheap 
jewelry  she  had. 

11  There  just  ain't  no  honor  among  men  any 
how,"  brooded  poor  Mamie  miserably,  blink 
ing  away  a  tear  or  two.  "Might  as  well  chuck 
it  now  as  any  time!" 

Passing  her  at  that  very  moment  was  Nat 
Hong  Ku.  In  one  swift  instant  he  saw  and 
understood  the  unshed  tears,  the  forlorn  des 
peration  of  her  small  face,  and  such  a  thrill  of 
pity  and  love  shot  through  him  that  he  forgot 
to  be  cautious,  desiring  only  to  protect  and 
cherish  the  object  of  his  secret  adoration. 
Putting  out  one  sinewy  yellow  hand,  he  caught 
Mamie  by  her  frail  arm,  his  heart  melting  with 
pity  at  the  very  realization  of  her  frailty. 

[7] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"You  come  along  with  me?"  he  suggested 
tentatively.  "You  marry  with  me,  I  give  you 
everything  you  want?" 

"Me?"  gasped  the  amazed  Mamie,  looking 
up  into  the  narrow,  powerful  face  above  her — 
and  felt  suddenly  bathed  in  the  veritable  flood 
of  protective  kindness  and  love  which  issued 
from  Nat  Hong  Ku's  quiet  dark  eyes,  the  one- 
tenth  yellow  blood  in  her  drawing  to  him  as 
nothing  else  could  have  done.  *  *  Won 't  I  just ! ' ' 
she  sighed  thankfully.  Then,  downcast:  "Does 
yer  know  about  me?  I'm  wantin'  ter  be  square 
with  yer." 

Nat  Hong  Ku  waved  a  graceful  hand  to  show 
his  indifference.  "What  is  past  is  past,"  he 
observed  philosophically  in  his  perfect  English. 
"A  lily  grows  in  the  mud,  but  it  is  none  the 
less  a  lily." 

The  marriage  was  happy.  Mamie,  steeped 
to  drowsy  content  in  the  age-old  atmosphere 
of  another  world,  blossomed  to  unsuspected 
charm  and  beauty.  Nat  Hong  Ku  showered 
gifts  upon  her — rare  silks  from  China,  curious 
ornaments  of  jade  and  beaten  silver,  even  a 
great  ebony  bed  inlaid  with  pearl  and  hung  with 
scarlet  and  gold  draperies.  He  never  tired  of 
the  picture  of  Mamie  reclining  upon  that  costly 

[8] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

bed,  rich  fabrics  piled  to  her  small  pointed  chin, 
all  the  wealth  and  glory  of  her  bronze  hair 
trailing  loose.  Sometimes,  sitting  beside  her 
in  a  carved  teakwood  chair,  he  would  recite 
Cantonese  love  poems,  and,  leaning  down, 
press  a  handful  of  that  wonderful  hair  to  his 
lips  in  mute  ecstasy  of  adoration. 

Mamie,  half  shy,  half  amused,  would  laugh 
a  laugh  full  of  all  the  cadences  of  a  string  of 
silver  bells.  "Ye 're  a  queer  one,  ain't  yer, 
Chinky?  Actin'  like  I'm  some  sort  er  bloomin* 
idol ! ' '  she  would  say. 

As  for  Mamie,  she  accepted  her  new  life 
with  Nat  Hong  Ku  with  utter  content.  The 
freedom  from  noise,  from  blows,  and  from  ugli 
ness  filled  her  with  such  passionate  gratitude 
that  she  deplored  her  inability  to  love  him. 

"Gawd  knows  I'd  love  yer  if  I  could!"  she 
would  say  dejectedly.  "But  it  ain't  in  me  no 
more  to  love  anybody,  that  it  ain't."  Where 
fore  she  desired  all  the  more  intensely  to  give 
flesh  to  the  one  big  ambition  of  Nat  Hong  Ku 's 
life — a  son  to  pray  him  into  paradise. 

Her  disappointment,  when  time  produced  a 
daughter  instead  of  the  much  desired  son,  was 
pitiful. 

"It  ain't  my  fault,  Chinky,"  she  said  to  Nat 
Hong  Ku,  sitting  attentively  beside  her. 

[9] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"Gawd  knows  I  done  me  best."  Tears  hung 
upon  her  fringed  eyelashes. 

Nat  Hong  Ku,  smothering  his  own  disap 
pointment,  bent  down  to  reassure  her,  smooth 
ing  back  her  disordered  hair  with  a  gentle  hand. 

"Grieve  not,  my  Lotus  Bloom,"  he  soothed. 

A  pause  followed.  Then,  without  any  great 
amount  of  interest  or  reluctance,  rather  indif 
ferently  in  fact:  "I'm  blinkin'  out,"  said 
Mamie. 

"You  are  dying,"  assented  Nat  Hong  Ku 
sorrowfully. 

Another  pause  during  which  Mamie  remem 
bered  Nat  Hong  Ku's  great  kindness  to  her. 
1  'Ye 're  been  good  ter  me,"  she  murmured  ap 
preciatively.  "Yer  kept  yer  word  all  right,  all 
right;  ye 're  been  awful  good  ter  me." 

"Stronger  than  steel  chains  upon  flesh  is  the 
word  of  Nat  Hong  Ku  upon  his  soul,"  pro 
claimed  Nat  Hong  Ku  with  austere  dignity. 
Lighting  fresh  incense  before  the  shrine  in  the 
corner,  he  began  intoning  the  prayer  for  a  de 
parting  soul. 

Mamie  interrupted  him  fretfully.  "The 
kid — "  she  said  abruptly.  "Don't  raise  her  in 
a  stuffy,  stinky,  closed  tight  room,  Chinky, 
lookin*  out  on  things  through  a  closed  winder. 
Eaise  her — raise  her  white."  Another  pause. 

[10] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Let   her   be   free — see?"    concluded   Mamie 
vaguely. 

"It  shall  be  so,"  promised  Nat  Hong  Ku. 
Again  with  shaking  fingers  he  struck  the  bronze 
gong  and  began  the  prayer  for  a  departing 
soul.  .  .  . 

This,  then,  is  why  the  daughter  of  Nat  Hong 
Ku,  wealthy  Chinese  merchant  of  Melbourne, 
was  given  the  freedom  and  education  of  a  white 
child.  The  name  he  called  her  stood  for  The 
Bud  Which  Is  Born  of  a  Lotus  Bloom.  Lily, 
her  teachers  called  her.  And  altogether  he 
spent  an  entirely  disproportionate  amount 
upon  her  education  for  a  mere  girl  child  born 
to  the  tending  of  cook  pots  and  the  bearing  of 
men  children. 

A  strange  child,  Lily,  differing  utterly  in  all 
her  naughty,  elfish  ways  from  the  sedate  chil 
dren  of  Chinatown  with  their  stolidness  and 
their  absurd  dignity.  Black  eyes  only  slightly 
slanting,  blue-black  hair  winding  into  heavy 
curls,  skin  of  the  texture  of  a  tea  rose,  she  was 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  entirely  white — 
which  was  in  itself  a  tragedy. 

To  see  Lily  at  sixteen,  spending  her  life  rest 
lessly  in  the  dim  recesses  of  her  father's  great 
store,  was  to  see  some  wonderful  figurine, 
[11] 


carved  by  forgotten  fingers,  suddenly  come  to 
life  amid  the  perfume  of  sandalwood  and  spice. 
And  to  see  her  floating  down  the  water  road  of 
Melbourne  in  her  satin  trousers,  a  flaming  flower 
in  the  blue-black  coils  above  her  small  pink 
ears,  was  to  gasp  with  amazement  at  some  im 
possible  vision.  She  was  rather  surprisingly 
lovely  in  a  vivid,  exotic  way — the  straight  deli 
cacy  of  feature  found  in  the  high  caste  Chinese, 
heavy  bangs  cut  square  across  her  forehead, 
all  Mamie's  wistful,  hungering  appeal  warmed 
by  something  more  restless  and  challenging. 
Sydenham  of  the  British  Consulate  said  he 
never  saw  Lily  without  realizing  the  tragedy 
of  white  blood  enmeshed  in  yellow,  without 
hearing  the  fluttering  of  wings  against  a  cage, 
without  realizing  to  the  fullest  what  a  prison 
life  can  be. 

Naturally  in  a  town  full  of  the  dregs  of  life, 
such  loveliness  unprotected  by  the  inhibition 
of  pure  white  blood  did  not  go  unremarked. 
Surprisingly  enough,  however,  neither  by  word 
nor  deed  was  insult  offered  to  Lily,  daughter 
of  Nat  Hong  Ku,  there  being,  of  course,  a 
reason. 

For  instance,  Bill  'Awkins  of  the  Ireland 
Rose,  clutching  the  arm  of  his  pal  in  genuine 
alarm  as  Lily  went  past : 

[12] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Fer  Gawd's  sake,  Matey, — don't  go  lampin* 
that  bit  o'  yellow  calico!  Her  dad's  the  rich 
est  Chink  in  Melbourne,  chopsticks  set  with  dia 
monds  an'  all,  head  o'  the  biggest  Chinese  tong 
in  town.  One  o'  his  men '11  knife  yer  straight 
ter  'ell  if  yer  go  worriting  that  gel  o'  his." 

"Gor'sakes!"  breathed  his  companion  fer 
vently,  creepy  chills  frisking  up  a  limp  back 
bone,  bulging  eyes  riveted  on  an  inconspicuous 
figure  nearby,  arms  folded,  shoulders  hunched. 
"I  ain't  got  no  eyes  fer  that  bit  o'  cloth  a-tall, 
a-tall!" 

The  life  of  Lily  ought  to  be  told  in  a  series  of 
flashbacks  like  a  movie  and  not  compressed, 
within  the  meager  limits  of  a  few  thousand 
words:  Lily,  standing  straight  and  slim  in  the 
doorway  of  her  father's  shop,  her  brooding  eyes 
under  their  heavy  black  bangs  watching  the 
mixed  crowd  flowing  by,  pondering  over  her  in 
evitable  sense  of  withdrawal  from  the  yellow 
race;  Lily,  standing  on  one  of  the  two  great 
landing  piers  in  the  harbor,  wistfully  regarding 
the  ships  setting  sail  for  countries  she  would 
never  see ;  Lily,  dreaming  in  her  window  in  the 
moonlight,  yearning  for  something  different 
than  she  had  ever  known,  failing  to  understand, 
in  the  impulse  which  one  day  was  entirely  satis 
fied  in  the  perfumes  and  silks  and  rare  mer- 

[13] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

chandise  of  the  shop  and  another  day  cried  out 
for  great  spaces  filled  with  wind  and  flowers  and 
sunshine,  the  tragedy  of  her  mixed  blood — there 
are  so  many  Lilys  which  could  be  shown,  each 
carrying  an  appeal  for  understanding. 

There  came  a  time  when  the  girl  was  ripe  for 
love,  as  ripe  as  some  sun-warmed  peach  hang 
ing  in  a  sheltered  garden.  And  Nat  Hong  Ku, 
seeing  her  dreaming  eyes,  taking  note  of  her  fits 
of  impatience  and  revolt,  narrowed  his  own  eyes 
thoughtfully,  uneasily  remembering  Mamie  and 
the  unknown  ancestors  back  of  her.  "Only 
from  the  sound  tree  cometh  sound  fruit  .  .  ." 
he  murmured  to  himself  more  than  once. 

Then,  while  Lily  tugged  and  strained  at  the 
anchorage  of  her  sheltered  life  like  some  trim 
sailing  vessel  anxious  to  sail  for  parts  unknown, 
two  things  happened  which  were  to  govern 
and  control  her  destiny  as  the  trade  winds 
would  have  governed  the  course  of  that  same 
boat. 

From  the  open  seas  a  rusty  little  tramp 
steamer  drifted  into  Melbourne  for  repairs, 
carrying  as  mate  Nels  Larsen  with  his  sea  blue 
eyes  and  pink  and  white  and  gold  viking  color 
ing. 

And  from  Shanghai  Sen  Yeng,  brother  mer 
chant  of  Nat  Hong  Ku,  received  word  of  the 

[14] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

death  of  his  only  son.  No  calamity  could  have 
been  greater,  and  not  even  the  news  of  the  gor 
geous  burial  in  a  scarlet  coffin  ornamented  with 
green  and  gold  dragons,  with  its  accompani 
ment  of  a  dozen  Buddhist  priests,  robed  in  scar 
let  and  chanting  the  blessing  of  the  dead,  could 
soothe  his  grief.  Nor  could  May  Ling,  his  wife, 
lend  consolation.  Sen  Yeng  grieved  mightily, 
neglecting  his  business,  scorning  the  tempting 
meals  of  fish  and  rice  and  preserved  ginger 
May  Ling  prepared  for  him,  spending  his  time 
in  idleness,  consuming  great  quantities  of 
Chinese  rice  whiskey,  and  brooding  sullenly 
over  the  blow  which  had  smitten  his  life  in 
twain. 

And  at  last,  coming  in  on  him  where  he  re 
clined  in  a  dejected  stupor,  smoking  from  a 
tiny  pipe  tasseled  in  scarlet,  May  Ling  made 
to  him  a  potent  suggestion. 

"To  the  flowers  are  given  buds,  to  the  trees 
are  given  fruit,  but  to  the  withered  bough  is 
not  even  given  leaves,"  she  said  quietly,  set 
tling  herself  beside  him.  Picking  up  a  pair  of 
tiny  silver  pincers  she  filled  another  pipe  for 
herself,  taking  two  long  deliberate  puffs  with 
feminine  daintiness. 

"It  is  true,  0  Mother  of  a  Son  Who  Is 
Dead,"  assented  Sen  Yeng,  regarding  her 

[15] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

scalp,  painted  black  to  conceal  her  baldness, 
and  her  wrinkled  old  hands. 

"Then — "  said  May  Ling,  refilling  her  pipe 
and  sucking  in  a  puff  of  smoke  sharply,  " — to 
the  garden  of  our  life  must  be  added  yet  an 
other  tree  ...  a  young  tree  which  beareth 
fruit," 

Sen  Yeng  laid  down  his  pipe.  A  long  silence 
followed. 

*  *  There  is  San  Me,  daughter  of  the  merchant 
Yung  Lo, ' '  suggested  May  Ling  placidly. 

"Nat  Hong  Ku  has  a  daughter  ..."  re 
marked  Sen  Yeng.  His  fancy  went  out  swiftly 
to  Lily  with  her  white  face  and  dreaming  eyes. 

May  Ling  demurred.  "The  daughter  of  a 
mother  in  whose  veins  flowed  the  blood  of 
foreign  devils,"  she  pointed  out. 

"A  daughter  whose  beauty  is  that  of  the  full 
moon  floating  in  a  sea  of  clouds, ' '  pursued  Sen 
Yeng  undisturbed. 

"Only  from  the  tree  wliich  is  sound  cometh 
sound  fruit/'  insisted  May  Ling. 

"...  like  a  full  moon  in  a  sea  of  clouds!" 
repeated  Sen  Yeng,  narrowing  his  eyes  as  if  in 
contemplation  of  that  beauty.  "Are  not  her 
eyes  dark,  is  not  her  hair  dark,  is  she  not  of  our 
race?" 

"Where  the  blood  calls,  there  will  the  heart 
[16] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

follow,"  argued  May  Ling  shrewdly.  Then, 
seeing  his  absorption,  a  twisted  smile  of  resig 
nation  wreathed  her  thin  lips.  "When  man 
is  determined  upon  folly,  even  words  of  wis 
dom  hold  no  meaning,"  finished  May  Ling 
quietly. 

After  due  reflection  Sen  Yeng  took  his  digni 
fied  way  to  call  upon  Nat  Hong  Ku,  moving 
slowly  in  his  inch  thick  felt  slippers,  hands 
crossed  decorously  on  his  broad  stomach. 
Over  a  cup  of  finest  Formosa  tea  steeped  with 
dried  orange  blossoms,  he  stated  his  errand, 
subtly,  with  all  the  indirection  of  an  Oriental 
negotiating  a  business  project. 

"A  great  calamity  has  befallen  my  house," 
he  informed  Nat  Hong  Ku,  laying  down  his 
empty  cup  upside  down  in  token  of  plenty.  His 
great  bulk  draped  around  his  small  bones  al 
most  in  folds.  His  several  chins  rested  against 
his  chest  in  complete  repose. 

"Doubtless  you  refer,  Most  Honorable 
Brother,  to  the  regrettable  death  of  your  re 
spected  son?"  inquired  Nat  Hong  Ku  with 
ready  sympathy. 

"Indeed  so." 

A  pause,  broken  at  length  by  Sen  Yeng. 
"My  wife  is  too  old  to  bear  me  another  son," 
[17] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

he  said  at  length,  as  one  offering  further  ca 
lamitous  news. 

Nat  Hong  Ku  murmured  inarticulate  sym 
pathy. 

"You  have  a  daughter  ..."  Sen  Yeng  let 
fall  very  casually. 

"A  most  beautiful  daughter,"  agreed  Nat 
Hong  Ku  cordially. 

"Such  a  daughter  is  worth" — Sen  Yeng  hesi 
tated  cannily — "at  least  a  thousand  pounds 
English,"  he  finished,  urged  beyond  his  native 
thrift  by  his  memory  of  Lily's  beauty. 

"A  most  satisfactory  match,"  returned  Nat 
Hong  Ku  tranquilly,  and  he  meant  it.  For 
Lily,  with  the  offense  of  her  foreign  blood,  Sen 
Yeng  with  his  wealth  was  a  piece  of  very  good 
fortune.  "There  is,  however,"  he  said  fur 
ther,  "the  small  matter  of  a  promise  to  her 
mother,  unhappily  dead."  He  related  Mamie's 
demand  for  her  daughter. 

Sen  Yeng  shrugged  his  fat  shoulders.  * '  Has 
not  my  house  doors — and  windows?"  he  que 
ried.  "Shall  not  these  be  always  open!" 

Palm  met  palm,  the  agreement  was  sealed. 
Sen  Yeng  took  his  ponderous  departure.  On 
the  way  home  he  stopped  and  drove  a  keen  bar 
gain  with  an  English  trader,  observing  to  May 
Ling  later  with  much  satisfaction : 
[18] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"One  hundred  and  twenty  pounds'  profit  on 
the  day's  business,  which  shall  be  laid  aside 
for  the  son  who  will  be  mine." 

May  Ling  said  nothing.  Nor  did  her  expres 
sion  change,  except  perhaps  for  a  brief  flicker 
ing  of  half  closed  eyelids. 

Over  his  evening  meal  of  stewed  duck,  pigeon 
eggs,  and  fried  batter,  Nat  Hong  Ku,  helping 
himself  finally  to  ginger  from  a  blue  Canton 
jar,  told  his  news  to  Lily,  pensively  crumbling 
snowy  rice  with  a  silver  fork.  Even  in  her 
table  manners  Lily  was  white. 

"Next  week  you  go  with  your  belongings  to 
the  house  of  my  honorable  friend,  Sen  Yeng," 
he  told  Lily  in  his  gentle,  almost  indifferent 
voice. 

An  odd  sound  escaped  Lily.  The  silver  fork 
clattered  to  the  table. 

"Sen  Yeng!"  she  said  breathlessly.  "He  is 
very  old — and  fat ! ' ' 

Nat  Hong  Ku  raised  his  eyes.  ' '  Next  week, ' ' 
he  repeated  inexorably,  "you  go  with  your  be 
longings  to  the  house  of  my  friend,  Sen  Yeng. 
It  is  arranged." 

Lily  pushed  back  her  chair,  escaping  from  the 
room  as  from  a  danger  which  threatened.  Up 
stairs  at  the  window  which  looked  out  over 
[19] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

gable  roofs  gilded  with  late  afternoon  sunshine, 
she  watched  for  a  time  a  great  white  slug  feed 
ing  upon  a  dwarf  rosebush,  reminded  in  some 
obscure  way  of  Sen  Yeng  and  his  fat. 

Finally,  fleeing  the  sight,  she  went  down  the 
water  road  to  her  favorite  pastime  of  watching 
the  ships  newly  come  from  lands  of  mystery. 
Sitting  there  on  the  steps  at  the  very  end  of  the 
pier,  so  near  the  water  that  she  drew  back  her 
feet  with  each  succeeding  heavy  swell,  the  soft 
damp  sea  wind  curling  her  hair  into  tiny 
spirals,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  burning  re 
sentment  and  rebellion  which  seethed  through 
her.  Life,  to  Lily,  had  seemed  some  wonderful 
adventure,  always  on  the  very  point  of  begin 
ning.  But  now  the  future  would  hold  only  Sen 
Yeng  and  his  three  chins,  Sen  Yeng,  whose  very 
name  was  like  the  touch  of  a  clumsy  hand  upon 
her  dreams.  Tears  welled  up  in  her  slightly 
slanting  dark  eyes,  scarlet  touched  her  cheeks. 

And  it  was  upon  this  picture  Nels  Larsen 
stumbled,  his  great  white  throat  bared  to  the 
breeze  as  he  idled  along  to  the  end  of  the  pier 
for  a  smoke. 

"Some  looker  I"  he  said  involuntarily,  noting 
the  small  clenched  hands,  the  slender  silken 
ankles  below  the  blue  suit,  the  scarlet  flowers 
against  blue-black  hair. 

[20] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

The  clenched  hands  relaxed.  Youth  will  not 
be  cheated  of  its  romance,  and  Lily  may  have 
felt,  looking  up  at  the  pink  and  white  and  gold 
strength  of  Nels  Larsen,  that  he  offered  some 
thing  which  would  never  come  again.  Or  may 
be  the  something  wild  in  him  called  to  some 
thing  equally  wild  in  her.  At  any  rate  she 
smiled :  a  smile  which  was  a  distinct  invitation. 

With  much  deliberation  Nels  sat  down  beside 
her,  laughing  as  an  ambitious  wave  broke  over 
his  feet.  Then  with  an  expertness  which  ar 
gued  much  practice,  he  slid  one  arm  around 
Lily. 

"Waiting  for  me,  sweetness?"  he  suggested 
impudently. 

And,  finding  in  that  rough  caress  something 
more  satisfying  than  the  suavities  of  the  yellow 
men  who  were  her  father's  intimates,  Lily 
smiled  again.  "I  have  been  waiting  one  ver' 
long  time,"  she  said  to  Nels  Larsen  in  her 
pretty,  slightly  foreign  way. 

If  this  were  to  be  the  story  of  Lily  and  Nels 
Larsen  much  could  be  written  of  their  swiftly 
ripening  acquaintance.  Of,  for  instance,  that 
very  next  night  when  Nels  came  to  the  pier 
half  angry. 

"You've  fair  bewitched  me,"  he  accused. 
[21] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"I  ain't  claiming  to  be  no  blooming  angel — I've 
given  and  taken  kisses  where  I  could  get  'em. 
It's  a  man's  life,  me  being  free  'n  all.  But 
last  night  in  the  eating  house  there  was  a  girl 
what  fancied  me.  And  I  couldn't  lay  as  much 
as  my  little  finger  on  her  for  your  face  stand 
ing  between.  Me!  And  I'm  not  wanting  to 
be  that  fond  of  any  woman  on  earth,  I  'm  not. ' ' 

Or  of  another  night  when  he  held  both  her 
small  fluttering  hands  in  his,  speaking  very 
seriously.  " Ain't  it  queer  now,"  he  said 
thoughtfully,  "here  I  am,  from  way  the  other 
side  of  the  world,  and  you  with  a  yellow  dad 
and  all,  but  the  first  time  I  set  my  eyes  on  yer 
I  knew  as  you  were  meant  for  me.  We're  kin 
somehow,  my  Chinese  Lily.  And  ye 're  white 
at  heart,  my  girl.  Don't  ever  be  forgetting 
that!" 

Or  of  still  another  night  when  Nels,  moved 
by  the  hint  of  something  tragic  which  clung  to 
Lily,  feeling  himself  the  fluttering  of  wings 
against  the  bars  of  a  cage,  was  moved  to  be 
still  more  serious.  "If  I  was  captain  now  in 
stead  of  mate,  I'd  be  taking  you  right  along  o* 
me  when  we  sail,"  he  told  her  uneasily.  "But 
I'll  be  coming  back,  Lily-girl.  I'll  be  back." 
He  tightened  his  arms  around  her,  crowding 
his  cheek  roughly  against  hers. 

[22] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Lily  felt  upward  in  the  starlit  darkness  and 
laid  one  hand  upon  his  eyes.  "Dear  blue  eyes 
I  have  so  adore ! ' '  she  whispered,  perhaps  think 
ing  of  the  small  eyes  of  Sen  Yeng  encased  in 
yellow  fat.  She  had  not  spoken  of  Sen  Yeng 
to  Nels.  Why  vex  him  with  knowledge  she  her 
self  found  unsupportable,  especially  when  no 
good  could  come  of  it? 

Then  there  was  that  last  night  when  they 
sat  long  hours  cheek  to  cheek  in  an  intimacy  of 
thought  which  required  no  words  until  the  first 
opalescent  mists  of  dawn  tinged  the  sky.  She 
gave  him  at  parting  a  carved  jade  charm  set 
with  sapphires.  '  *  To  keep  you  safe  from  harm 
.  .  .  and  happy,"  she  told  him  tremulously. 

And  Nels,  not  knowing  he  was  not  to  see  Lily 
again,  smiled  at  her  earnestness  and  thrust  it 
carelessly  into  his  pocket.  "You've  given  me 
yer  luck,  I'll  give  yer  mine." 

From  his  own  neck  he  took  a  pierced  coin 
slung  on  a  leather  cord  and  put  it  around  her 
slimmer  neck.  Lily  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
twisted  smile,  thinking  of  the  future  with  Sen 
Yeng  so  ominously  impending  and  which  no 
charm  could  ward  away. 

"Dear  blue  eyes — "  she  said,  and  her  voice 
was  blurred  with  the  sound  of  unshed  tears. 

"Love  o'  me  life,  don't  yer  know  I'll  be  com- 
[23] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

ing  back  as  soon  as  soon?"  assured  Nels  Larsen 
anxiously.  " Don't  yer  know  that,  my  Chinese 
Lily?"  ' 

Later  that  same  morning  Lily,  coming  to  the 
old  familiar  place  haunted  still  by  the  pres 
ence  of  Nels  with  his  magic  voice  and  his  laugh 
ing  eyes,  uttered  a  strange  longing  cry.  Where 
the  Sallie  0.  had  been  was  an  empty  space. 
For  a  long  time  she  sat  looking  very  steadily 
at  the  waves  breaking  just  below  her  feet,  but 
in  the  end  she  went  back  to  the  shop  of  Nat 
Hong  Ku,  and  the  very  next  day  she  went 
to  the  house  of  Sen  Yeng,  accompanied  by 
chests  full  of  garments  heavy  with  pearls 
and  embroideries.  Nat  Hong  Ku  had  not 
been  niggardly  in  the  wedding  finery  of  his 
daughter. 

May  Ling  made  her  welcome.  She  was  even 
kind  to  her.  Sen  Yeng  himself  was  radiant, 
presenting  her  with  a  wonderful  robe  from  Can 
ton  made  of  satin  heavy  enough  to  stand  alone, 
and  bracelets  of  snowy  jade  set  with  emeralds, 
which  Lily  let  lie  unheeded  where  he  had  placed 
them.  Hour  after  hour  she  sat  at  a  window 
facing  toward  the  sea,  tracing  in  her  mind  the 
laboring  path  of  the  Sallie  0. 

May  Ling  remonstrated  at  last.  "The  horse 
which  will  not  be  led  must  be  driven,"  she  said 
[24] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

to  Lily  firmly.  "Not  thus  is  the  manner  of  a 
bride  come  to  an  honorable  household. ' ' 

Lily  looked  up  with  heavy  eyes.  "The  heart 
knoweth  its  own,"  she  retorted.  "Shall  there 
be  a  rejoicing  where  there  is  no  joy?" 

"The  heart  of  a  Chinese  woman  is  a  caged 
bird,"  pointed  out  May  Ling  with  something  of 
sadness.  "Once  in  China,  from  my  father's 
garden — "  she  shut  her  lips  firmly  upon  the 
reminiscence.  "Look  upon  the  giver  of  rich 
gifts  at  least  with  politeness, ' '  she  admonished. 
"All  this  will  be  forgotten  when  you  are  mother 
of  a  son." 

"Is  not  my  blood  white,  and  does  not  white 
blood  call  for  freedom  f ' '  demanded  Lily.  '  *  Are 
these  things  to  be  forgotten  ? ' '  Impatiently  she 
turned  away,  clutching  the  coin  around  her 
neck. 

In  the  days  which  followed  Lily  came  to  wear 
in  due  time  that  patient  stolid  look  found  in 
Oriental  women  of  a  possessed  woman  hating 
the  possessor.  Not  but  that  Sen  Yeng  was  very 
kind  and  gentle,  more  than  kind,  in  fact,  after 
he  himself  began  to  wear  the  radiant  look  of  a 
man  whose  dearest  wish  is  to  be  gratified.  In 
The  Gathering  Place  of  the  Most  High,  where 
he  went  to  mingle  with  his  kind  and  indulge  in 
[35] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

an  occasional  game  of  fan  tan,  a  son  was  freely 
predicted,  and  Sen  Yeng  would  come  back  beam 
ing  with.  joy. 

"0  Branch  Which  Beareth  the  Bud  of  Life," 
he  would  say  to  Lily,  lying  inertly  on  the  bed 
of  ebony  and  pearl  which  had  been  Mamie's, 
her  eyes  on  the  window  looking  seaward,  "many 
shall  be  the  gifts  which  shall  be  yours  on  the 
birthday  of  my  son." 

And  Lily,  listening,  would  smile  a  queer  little 
smile  in  which  mirth  and  defiance  were  subtly 
blended. 

Once,  however,  he  made  complaint  to  Nat 
Hong  Ku  in  some  distress  of  mind,  genuinely 
worried  over  the  girl.  "The  song  bird  which 
I  have  removed  from  your  honorable  house  to 
my  less  worthy  dwelling  place  sings  no  longer," 
he  said  plaintively. 

* '  Soon  come  little  birds  and  then  the  mother 
bird  will  sing,"  reassured  Nat  Hong  Ku  plac 
idly.  But  after  his  visitor  had  gone  he  sat 
long  in  thought,  eyes  narrowed  in  his  lean, 
powerful  face. 

Then  came  a  day  when  the  long-awaited  son 
became  an  actual  fact,  and  May  Ling  went  down 
to  where  Sen  Yeng  sat  waiting  in  anticipation. 

"A  man  child?"  he  inquired  anxiously,  and 
at  her  murmur  of  assent,  he  indicated  a  pile 
[26] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

of  articles  beside  him.  "Gifts  for  the  mother 
of  my  son,"  he  explained  happily.  "A  pound 
of  the  finest  tea,  for  which  I  have  paid  three 
pounds  wholesale,  a  necklace  of  hammered  gold 
set  with  rubies,  the  finest  of  satins  for  new 
garments — " 

"All  these  you  will  not  give,"  disputed  May 
Ling.  "One  gift  and  one  alone  you  will  give 
instead." 

"And  that!"  His  little  eyes  blinked  at  her, 
half  in  fear. 

"In  the  scarlet  chest  with  the  carved  dragons 
is  a  silver  filigree  bottle  ..."  said  May  Ling 
in  a  voice  barely  above  a  whisper. 

Sen  Yeng  turned  purplish.  His  breath 
whistled  through  coarse  sagging  lips.  He 
looked  at  May  Ling  imploringly.  "But  the  sil 
ver  bottle  is  the  gift  of  an  honorable  husband 
to  an  unfaithful  wife ! "  he  chattered. 

"Even  so,"  agreed  May  Ling.  "Yet  what 
gift  more  suitable  for  the  mother  of  a  blue-eyed 
son — a  pink  and  white  and  gold  son  with  eyes 
bluer  than  the  sea!" 

Presently,  looking  older  and  more  shrunken, 
as  if  his  fat  had  somehow  sagged  upon  him,  Sen 
Yeng  went  to  where  Lily  reclined  against  pil 
lows  of  scarlet  and  purple  and  gold  on  the  great 
ebony  and  pearl  bed. 

[27] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"I  come  bearing  a  gift  in  hand,  O  Mother  of 
a  Son,"  he  said  politely. 

"I  am  unworthy,"  objected  Lily,  wearily 
courteous. 

Sen  Yeng  sucked  in  his  breath  sharply. 
"None  more  worthy,  0  Mother  of  a  Blue-eyed 
Son, ' '  he  protested.  ' '  Deign  to  accept. ' '  And 
from  the  protection  of  his  wide  sleeve  he  held 
out  the  silver  bottle. 

Lying  back  utterly  relaxed  against  her  pil 
lows,  her  face  pearl  white,  her  blue-black  hair 
drawn  back  from  her  forehead,  showing  the 
point  in  which  it  grew,  Lily  regarded  the  out 
stretched  hand  without  visible  change  of  ex 
pression.  If,  indeed,  at  that  moment  any  emo 
tion  claimed  her,  it  was  a  feeling  of  triumph 
over  the  defeating  of  those  fellow  conspirators, 
Nat  Hong  Ku  and  Sen  Yeng,  who  had  sought 
to  cheat  her  of  the  cup  of  life  from  which  she 
had  drunk  so  deeply. 

After  a  moment  she  put  out  her  own  smaller, 
whiter,  slimmer  hand  and  took  the  tiny  bottle 
into  her  own  clasp — took  it,  indeed,  with  some 
thing  of  gladness,  perhaps  seeing  in  it  a  door  of 
escape  from  a  future  which  oppressed  her  with 
its  narrow  limitations  and  its  lack  of  joy. 

"What  matter  the  price  paid  for  golden 
hours?"  she  said  to  Sen  Yeng,  ecstasy  flooding 
[28] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

her  face  as  her  thoughts  went  to  Nels  Larsen. 
* '  Though  it  be  a  million  years  until  I  rejoin  my 
Beloved,  yet  will  I  not  forget  I  For  what  is 
to-day  ...  or  to-morrow  ...  or  yesterday?" 

"It  is  true,"  acquiesced  Sen  Yeng  humbly, 
himself  sensing  the  flutter  of  wings  against 
bars. 

But  Lily  had  forgotten  Sen  Yeng.  One  hand 
went  up  to  the  pierced  coin. 

"Dear  blue  eyes  I  have  so  adore!"  she  sighed, 
sending  a  last  incoherent  greeting  of  love  across 
trackless  wastes  to  Nels  Larsen  on  the  Sallie  0. 

With  tears  of  pity  running  down  his  fat 
cheeks,  unable  to  look  upon  the  destruction  of 
so  much  youth  and  beauty,  Sen  Yeng  turned 
and  went  out,  going  down  to  sit  upon  his  door 
step  in  the  sunshine,  just  a  fat  old  Chinaman 
whose  thoughts,  instead  of  roaming  out  to  an 
unknown  blue-eyed  sailor,  should  have  been  of 
plum  and  cherry  blossoms  in  a  Chinese  garden. 
Or  perhaps  of  square-sailed  junks  floating 
down  silent  rivers  like  shadows. 

Later  May  Ling  joined  him  there.  "It  is 
over,"  she  said  in  a  hushed  tone.  "The  soul 
of  the  Chinese  Lily  has  gone  out  like  an  ex 
tinguished  flame."  Then,  more  assertively: 
"Only  from  the  tree  which  is  sound  .  .  ."  she 
began, 

[29] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

But  Sen  Yeng  interrupted.  "Once,  in 
China,"  lie  said  solemnly,  "a  butterfly  floated 
into  the  temple  garden  where  I  had  gone  to 
feed  the  tortoises.  And  I  wanted  it.  More 
than  I  ever  had  wanted  anything  before,  did  I 
want  that  butterfly.  And  I  ran  and  ran  until 
my  fat  legs  were  tired  and  my  head  was  dizzy. 
And  at  last  I  caught  it.  But  when  I  looked  at 
the  pretty  thing  it  had  crumbled  to  a  heap  of 
dust  in  my  hot  grasp.  And  my  heart  was  filled 
with  sorrow  and  I  wept  loudly.  And  presently 
came  one  of  the  priests  from  the  temple,  a  very 
old  and  wise  man.  And  he  stood  above  me, 
looking  down  upon  me  with  sad  eyes. 

"  'You  should  have  let  it  fly  in  the  sun,*  he 
said  to  me." 

Sen  Yeng  paused,  looking  with  vacant  eyes 
at  the  silent  May  Ling. 

' '  '  You  should  have  let  it  fly  in  the  sun ;  it  was 
not  meant  for  you,'  the  old  priest  said  to  me," 
he  repeated,  as  the  thin  wail  of  a  very  young 
child  floated  through  the  air. 


[30] 


THE    BLUE    EYES    OF    WANG 
HAI 


SEN  YENG,  with  his  three  chins  and  black 
satin  coat  and  his  look  of  a  drowsing 
Buddha,  is  a  leading  merchant  in  the  Chi 
nese  quarter  of  Melbourne. 

In  the  fore  part  of  his  shop,  its  embroidered 
panels  setting  forth  elaborately  the  Five 
Chinese  Virtues,  he  does  a  prosperous  business 
in  tea,  spices,  and  raw  silks,  doing  a  no  less 
prosperous  business  in  the  rear,  where  slant- 
eyed  Mongolians  in  the  blue  cotton  of  their 
native  land  slink  stealthily  in,  purchasing  small 
innocent-seeming  packages  of  cheap  tea  for 
some  fifty  or  sixty  pounds  English.  Lest  this 
price  seem  incredible,  let  it  here  be  explained 
that  these  innocent-seeming  packages  of  ordi 
nary  tea,  expertly  opened,  disclose  in  their 
innocuous  depths  the  black  gum  of  crude  opium. 

So,  altogether,  Sen  Yeng  is  a  man  of  wealth 
and  substance  on  that  street  known  as  The 
Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights,  subtly  deferred 
to  in  The  Gathering  Place  of  the  Most  High, 
where  he  mingles  with  his  kind,  and  likewise 
in  the  establishment  of  Wong  Ting  Fu,  with  its 
[33] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

ebony  bunks  and  expensive  pipes,  where  he 
goes  to  merge  in  opalescent  poppy  smoke  the 
drab  reality  of  life  in  Melbourne  with  the  more 
picturesque  life  of  the  land  from  which  he  came, 
seeing  again  in  his  tinted  dreams  the  pointed 
roofs  of  temples  sharp  against  the  turquoise 
skies  and  hillsides  pink  and  mauve  with 
azaleas. 

In  the  crowded  rooms  above  his  shop,  May 
Ling,  his  plump  little  wife  with  the  tiny  feet 
of  a  highborn  Chinese  woman,  shares  his  pros 
perity,  spending  her  days  embroidering  or  lis 
tening  to  the  tales  of  blind  Sing  Lu,  who  earns 
his  daily  rice  painting  word  pictures  of  glories 
he  will  never  see,  while  an  amah  imported  from 
China  busies  herself  on  her  less  ornamental 
but  more  useful  feet  preparing  the  meals  of 
snowy  rice,  dried  ducks,  and  other  dainties  with 
which  the  family  of  the  prosperous  Sen  Yeng 
are  amply  supplied. 

So,  altogether,  life  falls  in  very  pleasant 
lines  for  Sen  Yeng  himself,  for  May  Ling,  his 
wife,  and  for  Wing  Chun,  his  adopted  son. 
Only  sometimes,  sipping  deep  of  the  cup  of 
adulation  extended  by  his  less  fortunate  as 
sociates,  Sen  Yeng  remembers  Wang  Hai,  his 
blue-eyed  son,  and  for  just  a  second  the  heady 
wine  of  flattery  is  tinged  with  the  bitterness 

[34] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

of  futility.  But  instantly,  being  a  man  of  wis 
dom,  he  rallies,  and  from  his  coarse,  sagging 
lips,  as  he  fans  slowly,  beaming  on  the  as 
sembled  company  with  his  sleepy,  Buddha-like 
face,  a  pearl  of  thought  drops : 

"A  wise  man  does  not  trouble  the  clear 
mirror  of  his  soul  with  the  shadow  of  what  is 
past,"  he  pronounces  importantly.  "As  a 
Mohammedan  faces  East  in  his  morning 
prayer,  the  wise  man  faces  toward  the  future 
in  his  daily  life ! ' f 

A  murmur  of  discreet  admiration  follows, 
and  once  more  life  is  pleasant  for  Sen 
Yeng,  prosperous  Chinese  merchant  of  Mel 
bourne.  .  .  . 

Back  in  that  past  which  still  has  power  to 
trouble  the  tranquil  life  of  Sen  Yeng  occurred 
the  birth  of  Wang  Hai  and  the  death  of  The 
Chinese  Lily,  his  mother,  second  wife  of  Sen 
Yeng,  in  all  her  youth  and  beauty.  After  her 
death  Sen  Yeng,  always  the  man  of  business, 
devoted  himself  with  redoubled  ardor  to  driv 
ing  shrewd  bargains  with  his  keen  Mongolian 
brain,  intent  only  upon  the  piling  up  of  a  com 
fortable  fortune  and  the  rearing  of  his  son, 
Wang  Hai,  to  do  honor  to  his  name  when  he 
had  passed  on.  During  the  childhood  of  Wang 
Hai  there  were  about  Sen  Yeng  only  three 
[35] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

things  of  unusnal  significance:  The  closed 
and  bolted  room  in  his  dwelling-place  which 
was  never  opened;  his  hatred  of  the  sea  and 
all  things  pertaining  thereto ;  and  the  blue  eyes 
of  his  son,  Wang  Hai. 

And  these  things,  seemingly  so  unrelated,  yet 
had  a  subtle  bearing  upon  each  other,  having 
as  the  center  of  their  reason  of  being  The 
Chinese  Lily,  dead  in  her  fresh  young  beauty. 

Sen  Yeng  himself  never  spoke  of  these 
things,  wrapping  himself  round  in  an  impene 
trable  armor  of  contentment. 

"Only  two  things  are  necessary  to  the  con 
tentment  of  a  philosopher  .  .  ."  he  would  in 
form  his  interested  audience  from  one  of  the 
ebony  bunks  in  the  establishment  of  Wong  Ting 
Fu,  gesticulating  with  a  carved  peachwood  pipe 
tasseled  in  scarlet,  "...  a  full  stomach  and  a 
son  to  worship  at  his  grave.  And  both  of  these 
through  the  grace  of  the  Lord  Buddha  are 
mine ! ' ' 

"And  is  that  all?"  would  query  Wong  Ting 
Fu  the  Manchu  softly,  his  thin  lips  twisted  with 
something  close  to  contempt,  his  eyes  misted 
with  a  softer  emotion  as  his  thoughts  went  to 
his  blind,  golden-haired  wife,  Rosy  May. 
"Are  you  not  forgetting  love,  0  Honorable 
'Merchant?" 

[36] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Not  wanted!"  would  retort  Sen  Yeng  then, 
a  rancorous  bitterness  underlying  his  words. 
"Love  I  leave  to  the  poets — or  to  a  Manchu  like 
yourself,  O  Highly  Eespected  One.  For  my 
self,  I  am  a  plain  man  of  business,  not  a  man 
of  sentiment.  For  me  the  comfort  of  a  dish  of 
steaming  suey,  or  a  duck  cooked  sweet  and 
tender — ahi ! "  he  smacked  thick  lips  with  gusto. 
"The  wise  man  delights  in  the  pleasures  of 
appetite,  which  are  safe  and  comfortable,  and 
not  in  love,  which  is  a  dream  soon  over/'  A 
shrug.  "And  if  a  man  must  have  dreams — " 
he  continued  largely,  "are  not  the  dreams 
blown  from  the  lily  pipe  more  beautiful — and 
safer — than  the  dreams  of  love?" 

A  sally  of  coarse  laughter  greeted  his  words. 
A  few  remarks  about  love  impossible  to  render 
into  unblushing  English  followed.  Sen  Yeng 
sighed  deep  with  satisfaction. 

"And  I  have  a  son,  strong  and  dutiful  and 
obedient  .  .  ."he  muttered  sleepily. 

"And  with  blue  eyes !"  added  Wong  Ting  Fu. 

"Indeed  so!"  agreed  Sen  Yeng.  From 
under  his  lowered  lids  purple  lights  glowed 
briefly. 

"A  most  dutiful  son!"  assured  Wong  Ting 
Fu  hastily. 

"Indeed  so,"  agreed  Sen  Yeng,  relaxing  to 
[37] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

the  soothing  influence  of  poppy  smoke  drawn 
deep  into  his  capacious  lungs. 

So,  if  sometimes,  regarding  sardonically  the 
eagerness  of  Wang  Hai  for  tales  of  the  sea, 
bystanders  would  quirk  an  eyebrow  or  de 
risively  tuck  a  sly  tongue  in  cheek,  no  word  was 
openly  said  by  the  prudent  ones  aware  of  the 
power  of  Sen  Yeng.  As  Sun  Yat  the  Sooth 
sayer  aptly  put  it : 

"  Truly,  if  there  are  times  when  speech  is 
silver,  yet  are  there  times  when  silence  is 
golden!" 

Certainly,  however,  Wang  Hai  of  the  blue 
eyes  did  not  share  his  father's  aversion  to  the 
sea.  From  his  birth  he  loved  it,  stealing  away 
to  the  waterside  as  soon  as  his  small  legs  would 
safely  carry  him  to  burrow  contentedly  in  the 
clean  white  sand,  finding  increasing  fascination 
in  the  shells  and  moss  and  strange  sea  crea 
tures  he  found  there.  Then  Sen  Yeng,  a  taut- 
ness  under  his  three  quivering  chins,  would  re 
capture  him,  bringing  him  back  in  a  veritable 
tempest  of  shrieking  protest.  In  all  the  years 
of  his  childhood,  Wang  Hai,  reared  to  the  habit 
of  unquestioning  obedience  and  filial  piety,  was 
yet  unable  to  concede  obedience  upon  this  one 
point. 

"The  great  serpent  living  in  the  sea  calls  to 
[38] 


me ! "  he  would  explain  to  the  gravely  listening 
Sen  Yeng,  reclining  on  a  heap  of  cushions,  his 
great  bulk  draped  around  him.  "And  when  it 
calls,  then  must  the  heart  of  "Wang  Hai  re 
spond." 

Over  his  head  the  eyes  of  Sen  Yeng  would 
meet  those  of  May  Ling,  his  wife,  with  her 
placid,  carefully  painted  face  and  veined  old 
hands. 

"Only  from  the  tree  which  is  sound  cometH 
sound  fruit!"  she  would  intone  sonorously,  her 
words  harking  back  to  the  tragic  happenings  of 
other  years. 

Across  the  fat  saffron  jowls  of  Sen  Yeng 
would  creep  a  flush.  "Even  an  unsound  tree 
may  give  forth  sound  fruit  if  the  fruit  be  care 
fully  tended, ' '  he  would  dispute. 

As  the  years  slipped  by  the  yearning  of 
"Wang  Hai  for  the  sea  intensified.  Every  mo 
ment  he  could  steal  from  the  shop  was  spent 
on  the  great  landing  piers  of  the  city,  watching 
tramp  steamers  unloading  strange  freight, 
drinking  in  avidly  the  tales  of  rough  seafaring 
men,  feeling  in  his  bosom  a  longing  to  travel 
surging  wastes  to  the  lands  from  which  the 
boxes  and  barrels  came.  Even  in  the  changing 
sea  itself,  with  its  tumbling  waves,  its  emeralds 
and  cobalts,  and  its  weeping  mists,  he  found 
[39] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

unceasing  delight,  the  rough  caress  of  a  fresh 
breeze  satisfying  something  deep  down  in  him 
which  rebelled  instinctively  against  the  heavi 
ness  of  incense,  the  flowery  sayings  of  Chinese 
classics,  the  smoothly  insincere  courtesies  of 
the  yellow  men  who  were  his  associates,  and, 
indeed,  against  the  whole  sluggish  current  of 
his  life.  Among  his  own  race  blue-eyed  Wang 
Hai,  driven  by  the  spur  of  cheated,  unrecog 
nized  desires,  felt  himself  an  alien  tugging  at 
the  restraining  rope  of  his  Chinese  rearing,  the 
still,  tranquil,  lethargic  life  of  China  repelling 
the  something  turbulent  in  him  which  lay  just 
below  the  surface. 

Only  with  his  grandfather,  Nat  Hong  Ku, 
poet  and  philosopher,  did  he  find  anything  of 
companionship.  And  Nat  Hong  Ku,  watching 
the  signs  of  struggle  in  the  young  face  and 
seeing  the  coming  of  a  faint  hardness  to  the 
sensitive  young  mouth,  sighed  to  himself  as  he 
imparted  to  Wang  Hai  a  knowledge  of  Shelley, 
Byron,  and  other  English  poets. 

"In  China  .  .  ."  he  would  say  to  himself 
with  troubled  eyes,  "do  we  have  a  custom  of 
paying  the  priests  of  the  temples  a  sum  of 
money  with  which  to  set  free  animals  otherwise 
doomed  to  death,  thus  acquiring  merit  in  the 
eyes  of  the  gods  for  a  merciful  act.  Here  we 
[40] 


r 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

have  no  freeing  place,  but  it  may  be  that  some 
day  I  shall  set  free  a  living  soul  .  .  .  and  not 
for  the  purpose  of  acquiring  merit.  Ahi!" 

But  as  Nat  Hong  Ku  bided  his  time,  a  creep 
ing  distrust  of  Wang  Hai  grew  among  the  staid 
Chinese. 

"  Where  blue  eyes  yearn,  there  must  the 
heart  follow,"  said  Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer 
wisely.  "The  eyes  of  Wang  Hai,  son  of  Sen 
Yeng,  are  not  dark  like  unto  those  of  our  race, 
nor  yet  slanting — nor  has  his  hair  the  black 
ness  of  a  son  of  China." 

To  which  his  listeners,  Sen  Yeng  being  ab 
sent,  made  cordial  agreement. 

So,  conscious  of  the  whispers  of  the  yellow 
men  and  their  lack  of  friendliness,  Wang  Hai 
was  driven  to  the  sea  for  companionship,  or  to 
watch,  face  pressed  against  a  window,  the  life 
of  the  alien  race,  wondering  at  his  feeling  of 
fellowship  and  his  sense  of  belonging  to  this 
so-different  life. 

On  one  such  night  Higgins,  doorkeeper  at 
the  Bristol  Club,  pulled  him  forcibly  away  from 
he  window. 

None  o'  that,  yer  bloomin'  yeller  Chink!" 
he  ordered  sharply.  "It  ain't  fer  the  likes  o* 
you  to  be  a-lookin'  in  on  the  doin's  o*  decent 
folks." 

[41] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Then,  influenced  by  the  unresisting  dignity 
of  Wang  Hai,  he  peered  up  intently  into  his 
face.  ' i  A  Chink  with  blue  eyes ! '  '  he  spluttered 
amazedly. 

As  he  told  one  of  his  cronies  confidentially 
later  on:  "It  fair  gave  me  an  ugly  start  ter 
see  them  blue  eyes  lookin'  back  at  me  so 
unblinkin'  like  above  them  heathen  idol 
clothes ! ' ' 

"With  lonely  days  following  lonely  days,  and 
with  love  of  the  sea  and  distaste  for  his  en 
forced  life  joining  forces  to  battle  against  him, 
Wang  Hai  grew  at  last  to  manhood — a  man 
hood  seeming  to  promise  no  future  release  from 
the  walls  of  circumstance  shaping  him  into  un 
congenial  mold. 

Long  evenings  he  spent  down  on  the  big  land 
ing  piers,  looking  up  into  starlit  skies,  stifling 
the  protest  in  his  heart  against  the  ultimatum 
of  Sen  Yeng. 

"My  respected  parent  does  not  love  the 
sea  .  .  ."  he  would  brood  unhappily,  looking 
out  over  heaving  wastes  of  water.  "Where 
fore,  it  being  to  him  only  a  wetness  and  a  source 
of  danger,  he  wishes  me  in  the  store,  and  as  his 
son  I  must  obey.  But  to  me — ah  ..."  he 
would  draw  a  deep  breath  down  into  his  power 
ful  lungs,  "...  the  salt  of  the  air,  the  surge 

[42] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

of  the  water,  the  great  winged  ships — all  this  is 
life  itself I" 

He  was  down  on  the  pier  the  night  Jewel 
came  into  his  life,  and  she  came,  oddly  enough, 
as  a  gift  of  the  sea  he  so  loved.  Standing  there 
hunched  against  a  convenient  post,  shoulders 
drooping,  arms  folded  across  his  great  chest, 
staring  moodily  down  into  the  dark  waters 
sucking  hungrily  at  the  piling  of  the  pier,  he 
felt  the  swift  flash  of  a  moving  figure  past  him, 
a  slight  sob  lingering  upon  the  disturbed  air. 
From  the  dark  waters  below  came  a  splash. 

Just  why  Wang  Hai,  trained  to  a  stoic  ad 
miration  of  suicide  and  a  racial  lack  of  con 
sideration  for  women,  unhesitantly  followed 
that  splash  into  the  water  must  find  its  ex 
planation  in  his  blue  eyes. 

Presently,  by  reason  of  his  great  strength, 
he  drew  both  his  burden  and  himself  out  of  the 
water  onto  the  pier,  stretching  the  dripping 
figure  out  carefully  on  the  rough  boards  and 
bending  over  anxiously. 

A  very  young  girl  with  drenched  hair  of  a 
glimmering  gold  undimmed  by  the  water 
opened  dark  eyes  upon  him  ungratefully. 

"Whatever  did  yer  do  it  for?"  she  protested 
in  a  silver  thread  of  a  voice,  sitting  up  erect, 
water  dripping  from  her  clothes.  "Ain't  it 

[43] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

bad  enough  ter  be  nervin'  yerself  up  ter  a  thing 
like  that  without  you  cuttin'  in  an'  spoilin'  the 
whole  bloomin'  job?" 

"You  are  young,"  remonstrated  Wang  Hai, 
regarding  compassionately  the  pinched  youth 
of  her  face,  the  tender  flesh  of  her  small  bones, 
and  her  pathetically  draggled  flimsy  finery. 

"Wot  difference  does  it  make  whether  ye 're 
young  or  old,  if  death's  in  yer  bloomin'  heart?" 
retorted  the  girl  sullenly. 

And  then,  his  continued  silence  apparently 
laying  upon  her  a  need  of  explanation,  she 
flared  into  crudely  dramatic  speech. 

"I'm  new  here  in  this  town,"  she  said 
abruptly.  '  *  Came  out  here  from  England  with 
six  other  girls — ponies  in  a  dancin'  act — see? 
An'  we  thought  as  how  we'd  be  goin'  back  soon 
all  covered  with  gold  an'  diamonds  like  them 
idol  things  you  Chinks  worship  ..."  In  the 
faint  rays  of  moonlight  he  saw  the  bitter  smile 
twisting  the  softness  of  her  young  mouth. 
"But  the  bloomin'  act  came  a  cropper  an'  we 
had  ter  bust  up  an'  shift  fer  ourselves — " 
Again  the  bitter  smile  twisting  the  softness  of 
a  young  mouth  into  a  caricature  of  youth.  "It 
weren't  so  bad  fer  the  rest  o'  them  .  .  .  some 
girls  know  how  to  handle  men,  keepin'  'em 
standin'  off  in  a  circle  like  a  pack  o'  hungry 

[44] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

dogs  lookin'  at  a  bone  an'  somehow  afraid  ter 
snap  at  it — but  me,  I  never  could  manage, 
p'r'aps  because  I'm  young  an'  little  an'  scared 
way  down  deep  inside  o'  me!"  she  paused, 
gulping  with  remembrance. 

"So  that  sort  o'  makes  me  fair  game  fer 
them,"  she  continued  drearily.  "I  got  work 
in  a  pub,  but  a  week  ago  I  got  bounced  fer 
slappin'  his  nibs  the  owner.  Well  .  .  .  he'll 
be  bloomin'  careful  the  next  time  he  slides  his 
fat  arm  around  a  girl  ter  be  sure  as  she  wants 
it!" 

"You  are  cold;  you  must  go  home,"  inter 
rupted  Wang  Hai  gently,  observing  the  shiver 
which  shook  her  whole  slight  figure. 

A  short  sound,  hardly  to  be  termed  a  laugh, 
came  from  the  shivering  girl. 

"That's  just  the  rub — I  ain't  got  no  home  to 
go  to ! "  she  explained  impatiently.  * '  My  land 
lady — an'  a  scoldin'  shrew  she  was — turned  me 
out  on  the  street.  Said  as  how  there  was  ways 
a  pretty  girl  not  too  particular  could  earn 
room  rent  in  Melbourne  same  as  any  other 
place  ..."  Her  voice  dropped  on  a  percepti 
ble  note  of  pitiful  injury  and  indignation. 

"But  you  chose — ah — the  sea  instead?"  in 
quired  Wang  Hai  softly. 

"Might  as  well  choose  the  water  at  the 
[45] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

beginnin'  o'  that  road  instead  o'  the  end,"  re 
turned  the  girl  hardily.  "I  knows  that  road 
fair  well,  I  do:  kisses  an'  compliments  at  the 
beginning  dope  an*  curses  when  yer  ain't  so 
good-lookin'  any  more,  an'  in  the  end  a  jump 
inter  the  water  with  nobody  carin'.  An'  me — 
I'd  sooner  jump  in  the  first  place  ..." 

Surprisingly  she  broke  into  a  heavy  sobbing. 
"I  didn't  want  ter  die — I  didn't!"  she  said  be 
low  her  breath.  "I  ain't  had  anythin'  outer 
life  yet — not  a  bloomin'  thing !" 

A  silence.  Shamefacedly  she  began  mopping 
at  her  face  with  a  wet  and  grimy  handkerchief. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  muttered.  "It  just  come 
over  me  of  a  sudden  as  how  I  ain't  never  had  a 
chance,  an'  it  seemed  fair  hard  ter  blink  out 
without  ever  havin*  had  anythin'." 

Her  words  cut  straight  through  the  envelope 
of  careful  Chinese  rearing  to  something  vital 
in  Wang  Hai  himself,  revealing  a  similarity 
between  them  and  loosing  a  rush  of  sympathy. 

*  *  You  have  courage, ' '  he  reflected  aloud.  "It 
would  have  been  easier  to — ah — " 

"Not  fer  me!"  denied  the  girl  dejectedly. 
"Gawd  knows  I  ain't  wantin'  ter  be  like  this — 
it'd  be  easier  if  I  was  the  other  way!  But 
somehow  I  can't  be  standin'  the  weight  of  a 
man's  hand  on  me  unless  I'm  carin'  about  him. 

[46] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

It  ain't  anythin'  ter  my  credit  so  ter  speak,  it's 
just  like  a  matter  o'  bein'  born  blue-eyed  or 
with  a  hair  lip — it's  me,  an'  that's  that!" 
She  sighed.  "I  ain't  got  no  chance,"  she  con 
fessed.  "I  ain't  never  had  one.  I  ain't  smart, 
I  ain't  educated,  an'  I  ain't  able  ter  take  care  o' 
me,  an'  then  there's  the  loneliness — I  mind  it! 
Those  as  don't  mind  the  loneliness,  they're  safe. 
But  me — I  minds  it!  Yer  meant  ter  be  kind, 
but  it'll  be  the  water  fer  me  sooner  or  later." 
Her  tone  ran  over  into  a  cry  of  despairing  fury. 
'  *  I  ain  't  got  no  chance  at  all ! "  she  cried.  '  *  It 's 
allers  been  a-hangin'  over  me  waitin'  ter  close 
down  like  the  snuffer  on  a  bloomin'  candle!" 

Beneath  the  sudden  upleaping  rush  of  de 
testation  in  her  thin  young  voice  was  a  pathetic 
indictment  of  indignities  suffered  dispiritedly, 
of  familiarities  she  had  hardly  dared  resent,  of 
unwelcome  attentions  from  silk-hatted,  well-fed 
men  playing  a  game  of  cat  and  mouse  with  in 
experienced  youth. 

To  Wang  Hai,  hearing  and  understanding, 
came  the  strongly  partisan  feeling  of  a  generous 
heart  for  the  underdog,  accompanied  by  a  wish 
to  help. 

"The  first  of  the  Chinese  Virtues  is  Benevo 
lence,"  he  observed  quietly.     "I  will  give  to 
you  that  chance  you  have  never  had." 
[47] 


The  girl  turned  upon  him  a  look  both  search 
ing  and  sophisticated. 

"Ye 're  a  Chink — a  bloomin'  yeller  Chink!*' 
she  muttered,  unconvinced. 

"As  you  say,"  agreed  Wang  Hai  without 
offense.  "I  am — ah — a  blooming,  yellow 
Chink." 

He  waited  imperturbably,  listening  to  the 
splash  of  oily  waves  against  the  piling  of  the 
pier,  chilled  himself  by  the  raw  wind  playing 
over  him. 

"Yer  mean  yer  won't — "  stammered  the  girl, 
searching  his  eyes  and  finding  only  a  pitying 
concern.  Suddenly  she  reached  decision.  "I'm 
goin'  ter  trust  yer!"  she  said  in  a  sharp 
whisper.  "Bein?  as  I  got  ter  trust  somebody." 
Then,  with  a  wisp  of  a  gallant  laugh:  "An*  if 
I  been  findin*  white  men  yeller,  maybe  as  how 
I'll  find  a  yeller  man  white — see?"  After 
which,  because  she  was  very  young  and  forlorn 
and  hungry  and  miserable,  Jewel  slid  down 
softly  into  a  pathetic  wet  heap  of  unconscious 
ness. 

Wang  Hai,  after  some  moments  of  indecision, 
lifted  her  in  his  two  strong  arms  and  set  out, 
his  padded  velvet  slippers  leaving  a  wet  im 
print,  for  the  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights. 

[48] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

It  was,  he  recognized,  the  one  place  he  could 
obtain  shelter  for  his  unconscious  burden. 

In  the  house  of  Madam  Kwei  Ling,  a  widow 
whose  necessity  rendered  her  slightly  less'  curi 
ous  than  the  average  Chinese,  he  obtained  a 
room  scantily  furnished  with  a  low  bed,  a  cam- 
phorwood  chest,  a  threadbare  rug,  and  a  strip 
of  embroidery  quoting  excerpts  from  the  say 
ings  of  Buddha.  To  the  ministrations  of 
Madam  Kwei  Ling  herself  he  confided  the  un 
conscious  Jewel. 

Perhaps  an  hour  later  Madam  Kwei  Ling, 
her  curiosity  discreetly  veiled,  ushered  him  into 
the  room  where  Jewel  lay  on  the  low  bed,  clothed 
in  one  of  Madam  Kwei  Ling's  gay  brocade 
gowns,  her  masses  of  fast  drying  gold  hair 
spread  around  her. 

And  if,  in  the  darkness,  Wang  Hai  responded 
only  to  the  flood  of  an  irresistible  pity,  now, 
seeing  for  the  first  time  the  possibilities  of 
beauty  the  girl  possessed,  he  felt  stir  within 
him  a  deeper,  stronger  emotion.  For  it  was 
true  beauty  Jewel  possessed,  a  beauty  wrorn 
threadbare  and  pitiful  by  the  adversity  of  cir 
cumstances  :  great,  brown,  heavily  fringed  eyes 
of  limpid  appeal,  a  face  too  thinned  and 
shrunken,  hollows  where  curves  should  have 
[49] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

bloomed,  the  tender  young  bones  of  her  throat 
showing  beneath  too  tight  flesh,  a  tracery  of 
blue  veins  upon  her  slender  arms. 

Impulsively  Wang  Hai  put  out  a  hand  and 
touched  that  clinging  wealth  of  hair.  "Like 
the  gold  of  which  ornaments  are  made!"  he 
marveled.  "What  wealth  for  such  a  small 
head  to  carry!" 

And  Jewel,  raising  Heavy  eyelids,  herself 
made  a  surprising  discovery. 

"Why,"  she  said  in  utter  bewilderment. 
"Yer  ain't  no  Chink  after  all — yer  eyes — yer 
eyes  are  blue!" 

In  the  days  which  followed,  Jewel  filled  for 
Wang  Hai  that  emptiness  in  his  life  which 
had  so  oppressed  him  with  the  constant 
fretting  of  obscure  longings.  There  was,  for 
instance,  the  glad  brightening  of  her  face  at 
first  sight  of  him,  and  her  ready  appreciation 
of  the  gifts  he  brought  her:  Slippers  for  her 
slender  feet,  gay  embroidered  gowns  from 
China,  a  set  of  windbells  for  her  window,  flowers 
in  quaint  square  pots,  a  necklace  of  jade  .  .  . 

"Wot  makes  yer  so  bloomin'  good  ter  met" 
she  questioned  wistfully  more  than  once. 

"Benevolence  is  the  first  of  the  Chinese 
Virtues,"  he  reminded. 

[50] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"I  hates  ter  hear  yer  sayin'  things  like  that  1" 
fretted  Jewel.  "I  don't  never  think  o'  yer 
bein'  a  Chink!"  Spots  of  color  glowed  upon 
her  rounding  cheeks. 

"My  respected  father  is — ah — a  Chink, 
as  you  say,"  returned  Wang  Hai,  a  slight 
bitterness  quirking  his  sensitive  mouth,  that 
mouth  which  was  Saxon  in  its  expressive 
ness.  "Likewise  is  my  grandfather — ah — a 
Chink!" 

"Yer  got  those  blue  eyes  somewheres,"  per 
sisted  Jewel  stubbornly. 

A  silence,  during  which  a  visible  hurt  deep 
ened  in  the  blue  eyes  of  Wang  Hai. 

"Ye 're  white  at  heart  anyhow,"  muttered 
Jewel  apologetically,  slipping  a  penitent  hand 
into  his. 

She  was  full  of  these  pretty,  surprising,  af 
fectionate  ways,  new  to  Wang  Hai,  accustomed 
from  birth  to  the  less  demonstrative  ways  of 
China.  A  bright  head  dropped  upon  his 
shoulder  in  swift,  casual  caress,  the  unheeding 
intimacy  of  interlaced  fingers,  even,  on  rare 
occasions,  the  whole  slight  weight  of  her  leaning 
against  his  broad  chest — all  these  were  con 
stantly  surprising  and  delighting  Wang  Hai. 
What  he  did  not  perceive  as  he  came  almost  to 
dread  her  irresponsible  affection  and  its  power- 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

ful  appeal  to  him  was  that  slowly  her  fingers 
came  to  linger  where  formerly  they  had  merely 
brushed  his,  that  her  shy  fugitive  caresses  were 
less  casual,  and  that  in  the  frequent:  "Wot 
makes  yer  so  bloomin'  good  ter  me?"  was  a 
something  of  wistful  appeal. 

Bather  he  fixed  his  attention  upon  the  sheer 
pleasure  of  watching  Jewel  slowly  fulfill  her 
threadbare  promise  of  beauty.  There  was 
about  her  whole  brightening  and  blooming 
something  of  the  change  in  a  starving  Astray 
taken  from  the  gutter  to  the  warmth  of  abun 
dant  food  and  shelter  and  approbation — just 
the  difference  between  nobody's  dog  and  some 
body's  well-cared-for  pet.  The  hollows  in  her 
cheeks  filled  out  and  flushed  into  faint  pink, 
her  eyes  were  brighter,  her  lips  deepened  from 
faded  pink  to  scarlet.  There  came  to  her  an 
assurance  instead  of  a  perpetual  shrinking,  an 
assurance  which  was  not  at  all  unlike  a  tender 
boldness. 

And  then,  one  night  after  Wang  Hai  had 
spent  an  evening  making  clear  to  this  waif  of 
an  alien  race  all  the  dim  longings  which  beset 
him,  Jewel  stopped  him  when  he  moved  to  with 
draw,  standing  before  the  door  with  out 
stretched  arms,  her  eyes  wide  in  the  soft  glow 
of  the  lantern  which  shielded  the  fly-specked 
[52] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

light,  the  breath  of  excitement  panting  through 
her  scarlet  lips. 

"Wang  ..."  she  said  unsteadily,  "  there 's 
you  an'  there's  me  an7  nobody  carin'  wot  be 
comes  o'  us.  I'm  wantin*  yer  ter  stay.  .  .  ." 

"But  ..."  stammered  Wang  Hai.  Then, 
with  exquisite  gentleness,  "I  understand  that 
you  are  grateful,  Little  Flower,  but  gratitude 
is  not  a  rock  upon  which  a  man  may  wreck  the 
edifice  of  honor  he  has  reared." 

"Grateful?"  Jewel  gave  a  choking  little 
laugh.  "  I  'm  lovin '  yer,  Wang  1 ' '  Then,  in  the 
face  of  his  look  of  disbelief,  "How  could  I  be 
helpin'  it?  Ain't  yer  been  comin'  here  night 
after  night  a-fillm'  me  up  with  pretty  tales?  I 
ain't  at  the  goin'  ter  school  age  any  more, 
Wang.  An'  yer  been  good  ter  me.  Nobody 
ain't  ever  been  that  good  ter  me  before." 

"I  am,  as  you  say — ah — a  blooming  Chink!" 
he  reminded  gravely. 

"Not  with  those  blue  eyes!"  denied  Jewel. 
"An'  wot  difference  does  it  make?  I  tell  yer, 
I'm  lovin'  yer."  A  pause,  which  the  gravely 
considering  Wang  did  not  break. 

"Was  it  fer  this  yer  pulled  me  outer  the 
water,  Wang?"  urged  Jewel.  "Just  so's  yer 
could  pull  the  heart  right  outer  me  an'  step  on 
it!" 

[53] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Before  the  appeal  in  her  flushed  face,  the 
quivering  of  her  lips,  the  straining  of  her  out 
stretched  arms,  Wang  Hai  capitulated. 

" Beloved  Little  Dear  One!"  he  said  softly, 
lips  against  the  glory  of  her  hair,  in  him  an 
overmastering  tenderness  which  lent  reverence 
to  hoth  tone  and  clasping  arms  alike.  "Your 
short  life  has  been  one  of  trouble,  but  never 
will  Wang  Hai  add  anything  of  sorrow  to 
it." 

Altogether  it  seems  rather  a  pity  that  Sen 
Yeng  should  have  chosen  the  very  next  day  to 
break  to  Wang  Hai  the  news  of  his  approaching 
marriage,  and  that,  with  the  customary  secrecy 
of  the  Chinese,  he  should  have  waited  until 
negotiations  had  gone  too  far  to  break  off  be 
fore  mentioning  the  marriage  to  Wang  Hai. 

"Myself  and  The  Little  Bald  One  Who  Has 
Mothered  You  have  decided  upon  your  mar 
riage,"  he  observed  to  Wang  Hai  over  the 
morning  rice  which  they  shared.  "Your  bride 
is  already  upon  the  waters — a  maiden  of  China, 
chaste,  beautiful,  and  accomplished,  daughter 
of  my  old  friend,  the  taotai  of  Soochow.  May 
she  bear  you  many  sons  and  quickly." 

Upon  the  dreams  of  Wang  Hai,  filled  with  the 
[54] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

sweetness  of  Jewel  against  his  breast,  her  nrar- 
muring  voice  whispering  enchantment  into  his 
ear,  the  words  of  Sen  Yeng  broke  like  the  im 
pact  of  a  hostile  breath  against  a  shimmering 
bubble,  shattering  them  into  iridescent  bits. 

Then,  surprisingly,  Wang  Hai  who  had  not 
opposed  the  wish  of  his  father  regarding  the 
sea,  raised  a  faint  defiance  in  behalf  of  Jewel. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  marry,"  he  protested. 

"Man  does  not  attain  by  himself,  nor  woman 
by  herself,"  intoned  Sen  Yeng  placidly.  "But 
like  the  one-winged  birds  of  the  children's  tale, 
they  rise  together." 

A  nausea  of  repulsion  against  the  raven- 
haired  bride  with  her  full-lidded  eyes,  her 
docility,  and  her  satiating  obedience  claimed 
Wang  Hai,  exulting  in  the  flame  which  beat  in 
Jewel,  and  in  that  thirst  for  freedom  which 
eschewed  bondage  except  at  the  hands  of  the 
beloved. 

"You  are  very  old  and  wise,  0  My  Father," 
he  said  rebelliously.  "So  old  and  so  wise  you 
have  forgotten  how  the  heart  of  youth  beats  in 
springtime." 

"No  man  ever  grows  so  old  he  forgets  that 
thing,"  disputed  Sen  Yeng,  his  own  thoughts 
going  back  to  the  dead  Chinese  Lily.  "Yet 
love,  which  is  a  producer  of  happiness,  can  like- 

[55] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

wise  bring  a  rice  bowl  overflowing  with  bitter 
ness.  Be  obedient,  for  in  that  way  peace  and 
contentment  lie. ' ' 

1  'But  ..."  persisted  Wang  Hai  unhappily. 

Sen  Yeng  raised  a  ponderous  hand.  "It  is 
arranged,"  he  stated,  and  in  his  tone  was  a 
finality  which  silenced  Wang  Hai. 

Throughout  a  day  weighted  down  with  mis 
ery,  Wang  Hai  performed  his  duties,  receiv 
ing  goods,  unpacking  them,  making  out  invoices 
in  his  scholarly  hand  both  in  English  and 
Chinese,  his  thoughts  far  from  the  familiar 
tasks  his  hands  accomplished  so  expertly. 

Jewel  .  .  .  how  would  she  take  this  news? 
And  he  could  not  deceive  her ! 

"Between  those  who  love  must  ever  be  per 
fect  truth,  else  that  love  dies  as  surely  as  a  rose 
smitten  with  blight ! "  he  murmured  wretchedly 
to  himself.  And  then:  "Truly,  as  my  honor 
able  parent  has  said :  Love  which  is  a  producer 
of  happiness  can  likewise  bring  a  rice  bowl  over 
flowing  with  bitterness." 

At  night,  when  he  was  free,  he  went  to  Jewel, 
his  feet  lagging  from  very  unwillingness  to 
break  the  spell  of  enchantment  which  had  re 
deemed  his  days  from  emptiness  to  a  glowing 
assurance  of  being  loved  and  needed. 

"Lover-boy!"  greeted  Jewel  happily  against 
[56] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

his  breast.    And  then,  instantly:    "Yer  ain't 
glad  ter  see  me ! ' ' 

"  Unhappy  things  have  I  been  reflecting 
upon,"  explained  Wang  Hai. 

"Wot's  up?"  inquired  Jewel  simply,  anxious 
eyes  upon  his. 

''My  honorable  father  has  arranged  for  me 
a  marriage.  Even  now  the  chosen  bride  is  upon 
the  sea." 

11  Marriage  .  .  .  bride!"  whispered  Jewel, 
drawing  away.  "I — I  don't  get  yer,  Wang. 
Ain't  yer  mine?  Yer  ain't  thinkin'  I'm  goin' 
ter  share  yer  with  any  black-haired,  yeller- 
skinned  doll  I  Yer  wouldn't  be  leavin'  me  now, 
Wang?"  Her  instant  jealousy  was  pitiful, 
stirring  Wang  to  reassuring  tenderness. 

"  Could  you  share  what  is  altogether  yours, 
Little  Butterfly?"  he  soothed. 

"Then  there's  no  thin'  in  this  marriage  talk," 
sighed  Jewel  in  relief,  relaxing  against  his 
chest.  "But  yer  had  me  fair  scared." 

"Beloved  Little  Plumblossom, "  said  Wang 
Hai  sorrowfully,  "though  you  hold  my  heart 
between  your  two  small  hands,  yet  must  I  marry 
this  bride  of  my  father's  choice.  Always  among 
our  race  must  a  son  obey  his  parent. " 

"Ain't  yer  got  no  rights  o'  yer  own?"  in 
quired  Jewel  sharply. 

[57] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"No,"  said  Wang  Hai  somberly,  thinking 
back  to  his  frustrated  love  for  the  sea.  "In 
China  it  is  the  parent — not  the  child — who 
rules." 

"Yer  don't  love  me!"  cried  Jewel  passion 
ately,  reading  something  inexorable  in  his  face. 
"There  ain't  no  honor  among  men  anyhow, 
white  or  yeller!"  Tears  ran  down  from  her 
flashing  eyes,  her  face  whitened.  "Yer  don't 
love  me  an '  yer  never  did ! ' '  she  stormed.  ' l  Yer 
was  just  a-foolin'  me  with  yer  soft  talk.  An'  I 
hates  myself  for  lovin*  yer — you,  with  yer  lyin* 
blue  eyes.  Yer  ain't  no  different  from  all  the 
rest  o'  the  male  brutes  wot  loves  ter  hand  out 
a  rotten  deal  ter  us  skirts!  An'  I'm  never 
wantin'  ter  see  yer  ugly  face  again.  Me,  wot 
was  too  good  to  fall  fer  a  white  man,  fallin* 
fer  a  yeller  one!  Gawd!" 

Quietly,  with  a  passion  of  sincerity  pulsing 
in  his  steady  voice,  Wang  Hai  made  it  very 
clear  that  to  hirn  Jewel  was  the  one  ray  of  light 
dawning  upon  a  life  clouded  with  darkness, 
that  to  him  the  mere  patter  of  her  footsteps 
was  more  grateful  than  rain  upon  parched  corn, 
that  she  was  of  himself  that  other  half  which 
makes  the  perfect  whole  .  .  . 

But  Jewel,  lapsed  into  the  futility  of  hys 
terics,  did  not  heed  his  words.  And  finally 

[58] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Wang  Hai,  with  many  a  backward  glance  at 
Jewel  flung  face  downward  on  the  low  bed,  his 
heart  wrung  with  pity  for  her  drooped  mouth 
and  tear-stained  cheeks,  moved  toward  the  door. 

" Didn't  yer  say  yer  loved  me?"  reproached 
Jewel  sobbingly.  "Didn't  yer  say  as  how  yer 

wouldn't  bring  trouble  an'  sorrow  ter  me " 

A  peal  of  angry  sobbing  laughter  pursued  him 
as  he  went  out,  reaching  even  to  the  ears  of 
the  discreetly  curious  Madam  Kwei  Ling. 

And  there  the  whole  matter  might  have  ended, 
with  Jewel  sobbing  into  her  crumpled  pillow 
whole  nights  through,  with  Wang  Hai  going 
through  his  duties  in  a  daze  of  misery,  and  the 
unwanted  bride  sailing  toward  Melbourne,  ex 
cept  for  a  chance  visit  of  Wang  Hai  to  Nat 
Hong  Ku,  his  grandfather. 

To  Nat  Hong  Ku,  esteemed  as  a  poet  in  his 
gay  youth,  and  revered  as  a  philosopher  in  his 
riper  years,  belonged  the  ability  to  read  the 
distressed  minds  of  his  fellow  men. 

Making  his  grandson  hospitably  welcome  with 
offered  refreshment  of  scalding  hot  tea  and 
cloying  sweetmeats,  he  addressed  himself  tact 
fully  to  the  preparation  of  a  small  cube  held 
from  the  point  of  a  pin  in  a  tiny  fizzing  blue 
flame. 

"Many  times  have  my  eyes  beheld  your  spirit 
[59] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

straining  at  the  heel  rope  of  your  body,  Beloved 
Grandson  .  .  .  yet  never  more  than  to-day, "  he 
said  in  his  gentle  voice,  kind  eyes  upon  the 
young  face  opposite. 

And  then,  the  expected  confidence  not  forth 
coming,  he  continued: 

"Rumor  has  it  that  you  are  paying  court  at 
the  feet  of  a  goddess  with  hair  of  gold  .  .  ." 
A  pause.  "You  love  this  woman  of  an  alien 
race  I"  he  questioned  in  a  tone  free  of  blame. 

His  knowledge  did  not  surprise  Wang  Hai. 
To  Nat  Hong  Ku  were  known  all  things  which 
happened  in  The  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights. 

"I  would  that  the  River  of  Souls  yawned  for 
me ! ' '  he  said  desperately. 

"That  .  .  ."  sighed  Nat  Hong  Ku  shrewdly, 
".  .  .  is  the  voice  of  unhappiness  speaking." 
A  pause  while  he  regarded  the  opalescent  smoke 
rolling  away  from  the  cube. 

"Strange  that  one  born  of  such  great  happi 
ness  should  end  in  the  throes  of  unhappiness," 
considered  Nat  Hong  Ku.  "And  yet  perhaps, 
after  all,  not  entirely  strange.  I,  who  am  thy 
grandfather,  loved  a  woman  of  an  alien  race 
.  .  .  and  she  died.  My  daughter,  The  Chinese 
Lily,  loved  a  man  of  alien  race  .  .  .  and  she 
died!"  A  pause. 

"Truly  is  the  thief  in  the  night  stealing  of  his 
[60] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

neighbor's  plenty  to  be  condemned,"  reflected 
Nat  Hong  Ku.  "Yet  what  of  the  thief  stealing 
the  living  years  of  a  life  and  coining  them  into 
terms  of  service  and  obedience  where  none  are 
due?" 

Shrewdly  he  awaited  answer  from  the 
startled  Wang  Hai,  and  when  none  was  forth 
coming,  he  proceeded  leisurely,  inhaling  deeply 
from  the  now  ready  pipe  with  its  gilded  tassels. 

"To  me  are  you  my  grandson,"  said  Nat 
Hong  Ku  gently.  "To  The  Chinese  Lily  were 
you  her  son;  but  to  Sen  Yeng  with  his  three 
chins  sleeping  on  his  breast  are  you  nothing 
at  all!" 

"Sen  Yeng  is  not  my  honorable  parent?" 
stammered  Wang  Hai,  his  eyes  alive  with  dawn 
ing  hope.  "Then  if  he  is  not  my  respected 
father  ..." 

In  that  instant  it  seemed  to  him  he  glimpsed 
a  straight  and  shining  path  leading  to  the  sea, 
with  at  the  end  of  it — Jewel. 

* '  Thy  mother,  The  Chinese  Lily,  loved  a  blue- 
eyed  rover  of  strange  seas,"  explained  Nat 
Hong  Ku  with  something  of  sadness.  Then, 
regarding  the  blue  eyes  of  Wang  Hai:  "0 
Foolish  Young  Man,  often  in  the  garden  are 
planted  trees  of  plum  and  cherry  .  .  . "  he  said. 
"But  always  is  the  fruit  of  the  plum  plum 
[61] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

and  of  the  cherry  cherry!    Whence  came  those 
eyes  of  blue  to  a  son  of  Sen  Yeng?" 

Whereupon,  for  the  first  time,  was  the  story 
of  The  Chinese  Lily  told  to  the  son  she  left 
behind  her. 

1  'I  am  an  old  man,"  finished  Nat  Hong  Ku 
equably.  "And  when  the  years  of  my  wisdom 
are  accomplished,  I  shall  ascend  the  dragon. 
And  at  that  time  you,  as  my  grandson,  will 
mourn.  Yet  because  on  that  distant  day  I  wish 
a  mourning  sprung  of  affection  and  gratitude 
and  not  of  obedience,  I  choose  to  give  you  now 
of  the  wealth  which  is  mine.  For,  when  all  is 
said,  I  am  an  old  man  and  my  wants  are  few. ' ' 

A  look  of  utter  content  and  peace  crossed  his 
face.  He  closed  his  eyes. 

"A  wise  man  knows  that  he  can  hold  only 
what  is  truly  his  own,"  he  murmured  to  the 
departing  Wang  Hai.  "But  it  is  a  thing  the 
esteemed  Sen  Yeng  has  not  yet  learned." 

Later  he  said  the  same  thing  to  Sen  Yeng. 

"Thy  son  who  is  not  thy  son  is  taking  wings 
like  a  freed  bird,"  he  informed  the  embittered 
Sen  Yeng. 

"And  because  of  that  flitting  I  shall  lose  much 
face, ' '  complained  Sen  Yeng  querulously.  l '  To 
morrow  we  shall  have  a  bride  yet  no  bride 


groom." 


[62] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"  Consider  the  years  in  which  "Wang  Hai  has 
been  a  dutiful  son  and  not  the  years  in  which 
he  will  no  longer  be  thy  son, ' '  admonished  Nat 
Hong  Ku,  "for  always  a  wise  man  regards  his 
gain  and  not  his  loss." 

"But  for  you,  0  Meddling  One,  "Wang  Hai 
would  have  remained  my  son,"  accused  Sen 
Yeng. 

"To  me  is  Wang  Hai  my  grandson;  to  my 
daughter  was  he  her  son;  but  to  you,  0  Owner 
of  Three  Chins,  is  Wang  Hai  nothing  at  all!" 
observed  Nat  Hong  Ku  gently.  "And,  Fool, 
it  is  written  in  the  beginning  that  a  man  can 
hold  only  what  is  his  own." 

Timidly  May  Ling,  the  plump  little  wife, 
sought  to  pour  oil  upon  troubled  waters.  "In 
China  is  your  unmarried  nephew,  Wing  Chun, ' ' 
she  pointed  out.  * '  Let  him  marry  this  bride  and 
be  to  you  as  a  son — a  son  without  the  blue  eyes 
forever  yearning  for  other  ways  and  other 
lands." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  agreed  Sen  Yeng,  bright 
ening.  "For  a  mere  woman  your  words  are 
full  of  wisdom." 

"Always  is  the  fruit  of  the  plum  plum  and 

the  fruit  of  the  cherry  cherry,"  murmured  Nat 

Hong  Ku,  turning  away.    "Moreover,  as  I  grow 

older  and  more  full  of  wisdom,  it  appears  to 

[63] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

me  that  the  world  is  full  of  sadness,  wherefore 
it  seems  to  me  that  where  the  gift  of  happiness 
can  be  extended,  it  should  not  be  withheld.  And 
I  doubt  not  that  Wang  Hai,  my  grandson,  is 
happy.'* 

In  which  Nat  Hong  Ku  guessed  shrewdly.  At 
that  very  moment  Wang  Hai  knelt  worshipfully 
beside  Jewel,  lying  dejectedly  on  the  low  bed. 

"I  have  returned,  0  Fairer  Than  Jade!"  he 
cried  ardently. 

"Go  back  ter  yer  yeller-skinned  bride!"  re 
torted  Jewel  sullenly,  her  words  denying  the 
telltale  evidence  of  hollow  eyes  and  wan  cheeks. 
"I'm  not  wantin'  ter  see  yer  ugly  face  again." 

' 'Yellow- skinned?"  Wang  Hai  made  gay  pre 
tense  of  surprise.  "The  skin  of  my  bride  is 
whiter  than  milk;  her  hair  is  like  the  gold  of 
summer  sunlight  ..."  Gently  he  caressed  her 
bright  hair  with  a  tender  hand. 

"Does  yer  mean  it?"  gasped  Jewel,  abandon 
ing  her  pride.  '  l  Oh,  Lover-boy,  does  yer  mean 
it?" 

And  then,  seeing  in  his  misted  eyes  the  blessed 
assurance  of  his  freedom,  she  laid  a  wet  cheek 
thankfully  against  his. 

"Those  things  I  said  ..."  she  sobbed.  "I 
wasn't  meanin'  them,  Lover-boy.  It  was  just 
that  I  loved  yer  so!" 

[64] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"I  know,  Little  Flower/'  agreed  Wang  Hai 
understandingly.  "Love  turned  back  upon  it 
self  is  expressed  in  terms  of  hate. ' ' 

And  then,  holding  tightly  to  him  all  that 
power  of  stormy  emotion  and  pathetic  capacity 
for  feeling  which  was  Jewel,  he  repeated  his 
promise : 

"Nothing  of  sorrow  shall  I  bring  to  your 
already  sufficiently  troubled  life  ..."  promised 
Wang  Hai,  his  blue  eyes  very  intent. 


[65] 


THE    STREET   OF   A 
THOUSAND   DELIGHTS 


THE  hyacinths  bloomed  that  morning  in  the 
quaint  scarlet  dragon  painted  pots  on  the 
casement  window  of  Wong  Ting  Fu,  great 
starry  plumes  of  purple  and  rose  and  blue  and 
white  opening  surprised  eyes  upon  the  warring 
elements  of  their  surroundings  and  shouldering 
aside  into  insignificance  the  less  beautiful  dwarf 
orange  tree  and  budding  narcissus  beside  them. 
An  odd  room  indeed,  that  of  Wong  Ting  Fu: 
scarlet  curtains  flaunting  in  the  soft  morning 
breeze ;  upon  the  floor  a  rare  old  rug  from  China 
blending  faded  tones  of  gold  and  blue  and  royal 
purple.  An  English  chest  of  drawers  display 
ing  upon  its  polished  mahogany  surface  an 
American  razor,  a  bronze  Buddha,  and  a  col 
lection  of  tiny  tasseled  pipes.  Over  in  a  corner 
a  black  satin  screen  embroidered  in  apple- 
blossoms  and  tall  gold  storks.  In  still  another 
corner  a  narrow  iron  bed  covered  richly  with 
a  carelessly  thrown  bit  of  priceless  embroidery. 
Against  the  wall  a  bookshelf  upon  which  the 
sayings  of  the  ancient  Chinese  philosophers  and 
[69] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

the  Lord  Gautama  Buddha  jostled  those  of  the 
Christian  Christ.  And,  dominating  all  these, 
the  tall,  emaciated,  dignified  presence  of  Wong 
Ting  Fu  himself,  long  slender  wrists  half  hidden 
in  his  black  satin  sleeves,  aristocratic  ankles 
in  snowy  silken  white  emerging  from  immacu 
late  black  velvet  slippers. 

A  strange  person,  Wong  Ting  Fu,  born  a 
Manchu  prince,  educated  at  Oxford,  England, 
and  combining  in  his  suave,  dignified  self  the 
civilization  of  the  far  East  and  the  learning  of 
the  West.  The  steps  by  which  he  sank  from 
his  high  estate  to  that  of  keeper  of  a  six  bunk 
opium  layout  in  Melbourne  were  as  varied  as 
the  contents  of  his  room  high  above  the  sights 
and  smells  of  that  street  so  euphoniously 
termed  "The  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights," 
and  undoubtedly  beneath  that  slow  descent  into 
degradation  was  the  soul-snaring  influence  of 
poppy  smoke,  the  secret  vice  to  which  Wong 
Ting  Fu  made  whole-hearted  surrender.  For, 
as  he  himself  so  candidly  said  to  an  appreciative 
audience:  "A  splatter  of  mud  upon  the  robe 
of  chastity  is  a  vexing  matter,  yet  is  a  deluge 
of  mud  something  quite  different,  since  who 
shall  say  where  the  mud  begins  and  where  it 
ends?*' 

[70] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Which  sally,  urbanely  brought  forth,  invari 
ably  elicited  chuckles  of  approval  from  the  sor 
did  clientele  of  his  establishment,  behind  the 
closed  doors  of  which  bits  of  human  wreckage 
drowsed  in  contented  lethargy. 

But  in  this  story,  which  is  the  story  of  Wong 
Ting  Fu  and  Rosy  May,  blind  daughter  of  Eng 
lish  Annie,  the  tragic  Odyssey  of  Wong  Ting  Fu 
has  no  place.  There  remains  only  to  be  consid 
ered  the  fact  that,  standing  alone  in  his  pride 
of  race,  his  intellect,  and  his  education,  in  a 
district  peopled  mainly  with  Cantonese,  sturdy 
river  or  country  men  risen  to  a  dogged  pros 
perity  in  this  new  land  of  promise,  Wong  Ting 
Fu  the  Manchu  was  a  very  lonely  man,  finding 
in  the  difference  between  his  present  life  and 
his  former  greatness  an  all  but  unbearable 
contrast. 

He  was  lonely  this  particular  morning  as  he 
bent  above  the  hyacinths,  inhaling  their  per 
fume  with  an  exclamation  of  delight,  remember 
ing  perhaps  with  his  poppy-misted  brain  other 
blooms  in  other  lands. 

"0  Little  Buds  of  Beauty!"  sighed  Wong 

Ting  Fu,  stretching  sinewy  yellow  hands  above 

them.    Then,  because  in  the  vanished  days  he 

had  been  a  poet  and  a  scholar,  he  lifted  a  two- 

[71] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

string  guitar  from  the  floor,  twanging  it  to  a 
melancholy,  sentimental  tune: 

11 0  loveliness  which  is  mine, 
Soul  of  a  thousand  perfumes " 

sang  Wong  Ting  Fu  in  the  morning  sunlight, 
in  his  not  unpleasant,  exquisitely  modulated, 
slightly  flattened  voice. 

Presently  he  went  down  the  rickety  stairs 
and  out  through  the  green  doors  so  diligently 
and  patiently — and  so  fruitlessly — raided  by 
exasperated  Melbourne  police  into  the  sights, 
the  smells,  and  the  clamor  of  the  Street  of  a 
Thousand  Delights.  Past  fat  Ah  Ling,  the  food 
merchant,  past  the  peacock  feathers  and  gilded 
chandeliers  of  the  restaurant  of  Hong  Fong  he 
went,  stepping  carefully  over  puddles  deposited 
by  a  recent  rain,  his  brown,  luxuriantly  lashed 
eyes  resting  indifferently  upon  sights  his  misted 
brain  scarcely  recognized. 

"Wong  Ting  Fu  the  Manchu!"  said  a  stout, 
brown,  heavy-legged  Chinese  to  his  neighbor  in 
the  doorway  of  a  fruit  and  vegetable  shop.  "Lo, 
how  are  the  mighty  fallen  that  a  cousin  of  the 
yellow  Emperor  rubs  elbows  with  the  lowly!'* 

"Ahi!"  laughed  the  other  maliciously.  "If 
a  fleet  horse  be  hamstrung  can  a  mule  not  excel 
him?" 

[72] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Even  so!"  agreed  the  other,  sucking  in  his 
thick  lips  appreciatively. 

Passing  rapidly  along  that  street  which  might 
have  been  lifted  bodily  from  China,  from  the 
balconies  of  which  gleamed  furtive  faces  with 
drugged  eyes  or  came  the  high,  shrilly  scolding 
voices  of  forbidden  women,  Wong  Ting  Fu 
paused  before  the  door  behind  which  dwelt 
English  Annie  and  her  daughter,  Rosy  May, 
the  blind  girl. 

English  Annie  herself  opened  the  door,  her 
good-natured  face,  still  unpainted,  showing  a 
sickly  white  in  the  clear  morning  light,  her 
peroxided  hair  in  customary  disarray,  one  hand 
holding  the  neck  of  her  frowsy  dressing-sack 
together. 

"Late  this  morning,  ain't  yer?"  she  de 
manded  sharply.  "And  Rosy's  that  restless 
she's  been  calling  fer  yer  constant." 

"I  was  delayed,"  explained  Wong  Ting  Fu 
in  his  exact  English.  "This  morning  the  hya 
cinths  bloomed  and  I  stopped  to  admire  their 
beauty." 

"Yer  bloomin'  hyacinths!"  sniffed  English 
Annie  good-naturedly.  "Ain't  I  got  as  pretty 
a  flower  bloomin'  here  as  anybody  ever  saw?" 

"It  is  true,"  assented  Wong  Ting  Fu. 
[73] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

A  pause.  Wong  Ting  Fu  made  as  if  to  pass 
on  into  the  inner  room,  but  English.  Annie  put 
out  a  slightly  trembling  hand  and  caught  him 
by  the  sleeve  with  urgent  fingers. 

"Wong!"  she  said,  and  swallowed,  wetting 
her  dry  lips  with  a  nervous  tongue. 

"There  is  perhaps  something  I  can  do?"  he 
inquired  courteously. 

* '  Not  f  er  me ! "  denied  English  Annie.  * '  Fer 
yerself  and  her,  Rosy." 

"Yes?"  smiled  Wong  Ting  Fu,  heavily 
fringed  eyes  upon  her  shrewdly. 

"All  this  time  we  been  a-livin'  on  yer  money, 
me  and  Rosy "  stammered  English  Annie. 

"It  is  nothing!"  reassured  Wong  Ting  Fu 
quickly.  "The  joy  of  watching  a  flower  grow 
to  beauty  has  sufficed. ' ' 

"Gawd  in  Heaven  couldn't  a  been  kinder!" 
choked  English  Annie.  "And  I'm  grateful, 
Wong.  But  Rosy's  near  a  woman  grown  now. 
It  ain't  goin'  ter  be  easy  keepin'  things  from 
her  any  more  fer  all  she's  blind.  Keepin'  ugli 
ness  away  from  her  ain't  goin'  ter  be  easy  no 
more!" 

"Perhaps  not,"  agreed  Wong  Ting  Fu 
thoughtfully. 

' '  Only  yesterday  I  took  her  to  the  dock  fer  a 
bit  o'  sea  air,  her  bein'  so  white  and  all,"  said 
[74] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

English  Annie  anxiously.  "And  a  sailor  from 
The  Ireland  Queen  comes  up  ter  us  and — well, 
yer  know,  Wong,  it  ain't  easy  fer  me  to  make 
anybody  respect  a  girl  o'  mine.  I — I  had  ter 
tell  her  he  was  crazy,  what  with  his  loud  talk 
and  his  ugly  words. ' '  A  pause.  '  *  She's  pretty, 
Wong — too  pretty  ter  be  safe  with  the  likes  o* 
me  I"  concluded  English  Annie  heavily. 

A  silence.  Then:  "Why  don't  yer  take  her, 
Wong?"  asked  English  Annie  timidly.  "Yer 
could  keep  her  safe,  our  little  flower — I  can't!" 

A  sudden  and  revealing  light  in  the  deep 
brown  eyes  of  Wong  Ting  Fu,  although  he  said 
nothing. 

"Me,  I've  a  chance  ter  go  back  ter  the  old 
country, ' '  pleaded  English  Annie.  ' '  But  I  can 't 
take  Eosy.  Between  us  we've  kept  her  clean, 
Wong.  I  can't  be  a-takin'  her  back  inter  all 
that  scum!" 

"She  knows  no  more  of  ugliness  than  a  lily 
knows  of  the  mud  from  which  it  springs, ' '  said 

Wong  Ting  Fu  slowly.    "But "    He  lifted 

one  thin  yellow  hand,  inspecting  it  meaningly. 

"She's  blind;  how's  she  ever  goin'  ter 
know  ? ' '  urged  English  Annie  eagerly.  ' '  Yellow 
men,  white  men — how's  she  ever  goin'  ter 
know?  And  if  yer  yellow  on  the  outside,  Wong, 
yer  blamed  white  at  heart!" 
[75] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"She  will  never  know,"  assented  Wong  Ting 
Fu.  "But — -" 

"Can  the  likes  o'  Eosy  be  a  chooser?"  de 
manded  English  Annie  with  bitterness.  "And 
there 's  worse  things,  Wong,  than  marryin'  a 
yellow  man ! ' ' 

Behind  the  sudden  upleaping  bitterness  of  her 
tone  was  a  pitiful  indictment  of  all  that  fan 
tastic  sordid  life  which  lay  behind  her,  a  sudden 
reminiscence  of  an  orphan  asylum  in  England 
with  long  lines  of  gray-clad,  pig-tailed  children ; 
of  a  cheap  lodging-house  with  interminable 
steps  to  be  scrubbed  by  a  tired  lonely  little 
slavey;  of  a  stray  bit  of  kindness  tossed  to  a 
lonely  overworked  girl;  of  a  sudden  glowing 
satisfaction  in  being  somebody's  dog  instead 
of  a  stray;  of  a  first  step  into  the  mud  of  dis 
honor  through  love;  of  a  further  sinking 
through  necessity;  and  then  of  a  slow  deter 
mined  slaying  of  soul  to  provide  for  a  tiny  child 
with  unseeing  eyes.  For,  as  she  herself  said 
often:  "I  couldn't  be  lettin'  her  go  inter  a 
Home,  could  I,  me  bein'  raised  that  way  myself 
and  a-knowin'  just  how  bad  it  was!" 

Later,  much  later,  when  the  innocence  of 
Eosy  was  becoming  a  problem,  came  Melbourne 
and  the  beneficent,  unseeking  kindness  of  Wong 
[76] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Ting  Fu,  from  the  very  first  moment  his  eyes 
had  chanced  across  her  in  the  restaurant  of 
Hong  Fong,  shielded  from  the  dubious  sights 
around  her  by  the  blindness  of  her  eyes.  "Little 
Flower  Growing  in  the  Dark ' '  he  had  called  her 
in  a  sudden  gush  of  pity.  Even  after  the  pity 
had  subtly  blended  into  love  he  continued  to  call 
her  that. 

Wong  Ting  Fu  roused  from  his  meditation. 
"Who  knows — ah — that  it  will  be  agreeable  to 
the  Little  Lotus  Bud?"  he  inquired. 

"It's  yerself  that's  been  blind  all  these 
days!"  sniffed  English  Annie.  "Rosy's  soft 
on  yer,  Wong.  Ain't  yer  been  kind  ter  her? 
Ain't  yer  spent  hours  and  hours  a-tellin'  her 
pretty  stories  with  her  a-readin'  herself  as  the 
her-oine  and  you  as  the  he-ro?  Gwan!  I'm 
thinkin'  she's  figurin'  yer  second  only  ter  Gawd 
Almighty!" 

Faint  color  came  into  the  nearly  white  cheeks 
of  Wong  Ting  Fu. 

"She  loves  yer;  she'll  be  happy  with  yer," 
insisted  English  Annie.  "And  she'll  be  safe 
with  yer !  She'll  be  a  good  wife  f er  all  her  beinr 
blind — it  ain't  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  to 
have  a  blind  wife,  Wong,  if  bein'  blind  keeps 
her  thinkin'  yer  a  bloomin*  king!" 
[77] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"No,"  agreed  Wong  Ting  Fu  slowly.  "As 
you  say — ah — it  isn't  the  worst  thing  in  the 
wo  rid. " 

Passing  on  to  the  inner  room,  he  stopped  in 
the  doorway  for  the  heart-stirring  throb  of 
sheer  delight  he  invariably  experienced  with  his 
first  sight  of  Rosy  May.  She  sat  upon  a  couch 
gorgeous  with  rich  satins  and  heaped  with  gay 
pillows,  her  small  white  face  turned  wistfully 
toward  the  door.  Heavy,  amber  colored  hair 
hung  around  her  frail  shoulders,  the  sightless 
eyes  were  of  clear,  dark  blue  shaded  by  long, 
curving  lashes,  the  slender  hands  and  feet,  so 
necessary  to  the  Oriental  ideal  of  beauty,  were 
slimly  perfect.  And  when  she  called  to  Wong 
Ting  Fu,  hesitating  in  the  doorway,  there  was 
in  her  tone  a  rapture  of  adoration  few  men, 
white  or  yellow,  have  lived  to  hear. 

"Wong!"  she  called  in  happy  delight,  lifting 
slender  arms  in  the  blue  satin  coat  which  cov 
ered  her.  Although  she  did  not  know  it,  the 
coat  and  all  the  other  beautiful  things  with 
which  the  room  was  crowded  were  the  gifts  of 
Wong  Ting  Fu. 

"I  am  here,  0  Beloved  Little  Princess!"  said 

Wong  Ting  Fu  tenderly,  advancing  and  seating 

himself  on  the  floor  beside  her.    Gently  he  took 

one  of  her  small  white  hands  in  his  own  yellow 

[78] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

one,  contrasting  them  with  something  of  regret. 

"It  seemed  so  long  to-day  before  you  came!" 
she  reproached  wistfully  in  the  faultless  Eng 
lish  he  had  so  painstakingly  taught  her.  "And 
without  you  it  is  always  dark  and  lonely." 

"To-day  the  hyacinths  bloomed,"  he  told  her 
pacifically.  "And  because  of  that  it  is  an  auspi 
cious  day  and  I  come  with  a  gift  in  my  hands." 
Carefully  he  laid  in  her  eagerly  reaching  palms 
a  necklace  of  purest  green  jade,  cunningly  orna 
mented  with  gold  feathers.  ' '  See,  Little  Lotus 
Bud,  it  is  green,  a  color  of  which,  poor  Little 
Jasmine  Flower,  you  have  no  knowledge.  Yet 
green  is  a  color  which  is  cool,  like  the  breeze 
from  the  open  sea  or  the  tinkle  of  falling 
water." 

' '  I  see  it ! "  cooed  Eosy  May  in  delight.  *  *  Al 
ways  I  can  see  things  when  you  tell  me  of  them. 
And  now  tell  me  of  the  hyacinths  and  of  that 
country  in  which  you  were  a  prince!" 

And  because  in  the  days  of  his  first  youth 
"Wong  Ting  Fu  had  been  a  poet,  sitting  beside 
the  raptly  listening  blind  girl  he  painted  pic 
tures  for  her  with  carefully  chosen  words — 
pictures  of  gardens  filled  with  plum  and  cherry 
blossoms ;  of  temples  with  mellow  bells  and  scar 
let  robed  priests  walking  in  the  twilight ;  of  the 
court  of  the  Emperor  with  its  gayly  clad  cour- 
[79] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

tiers ;  of  sampans  floating  upon  great  rivers ;  of 
rice  fields  with  black  crows  winging  slowly 
above. 

"I  see  it — I  see  it  I"  cried  Eosy  May  in 
ecstasy.  "Always  you  can  make  me  see  what 
you  see!" 

And  Wong  Ting  Fu,  thinking  of  the  ugliness 
in  which  his  life  was  spent,  smiled  a  smile  sad 
der  than  any  gush  of  tears. 

"If  I  could  but  see!"  grieved  Eosy  May 
plaintively.  "If  I  could  but  see  you,  Wong." 

"If  you  could  but  see!"  agreed  Wong  Ting 
Fu  placidly,  looking  down  upon  the  small  white 
hand  so  closely  clasped  in  his  yellow  one.  "Yet 
listen  well,  Plumblossom,  for  I  have  news  for 
you  to-day." 

"Tell  me  first  how  beautiful  I  am,"  com 
manded  Eosy  May  rebelliously. 

Gravely  Wong  Ting  Fu  complied.  "Your 
beautiful  hair  is  sunlight  prisoned  in  a  web  of 
silk,"  he  said  obediently.  "Your  eyes  are  bluer 
than  sapphire  seas  beneath  June  skies,  your 
mouth  as  softly  red  as  summer  roses " 

"Ah!"  sobbed  Eosy  May  passionately  in  sud 
den  revolt.  "What  do  I  know  of  sunlight  or  of 
blue  skies  or  of  red  roses?" 

"It  is  true,"  agreed  Wong  Ting  Fu  sorrow 
fully.  "Yet  are  you  so  beautiful,  0  Little 
[80] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Mourning  Dove,  that  you  hold  my  heart  between 
your  two  small  hands  and  all  that  heart  is  filled 
with  your  beauty!" 

Eosy  May  clapped  her  hands.  "But  that — 
that  I  understand!"  she  cried  gleefully.  "For 
that,  Wong,  is  feeling,  not  seeing,  and  it  is  what 
I  feel  for  you.  Even  the  blind  can  feel ! ' ' 

A  long  silence.  Wistfully  she  turned  her  face 
up  towards  his.  "Are  you  displeased,  Master 
of  My  Heart?" 

Gently  Wong  Ting  Fu  gathered  into  his  arms 
all  the  beauty,  all  the  sweetness,  all  the  pathetic 
wistfulness  which  was  Rosy  May.  "We  are  two 
lonely  ones,  0  Flower  Which  Blooms  in  the  Gar 
den  of  My  Delight,"  he  said  in  his  poetic  way. 
"Wherefore  shall  we  be,  each  to  the  other,  all 
in  all." 

And  that  night  being  their  wedding  night, 
they  sat  cheek  to  cheek  in  the  casement  window 
beside  the  blooming  hyacinths,  waiting  to  see 
the  first  sun  rise  upon  their  marriage,  insuring 
happiness. 

"I  am  happy,  Wong,"  whispered  Eosy  May. 
"Yet  if  for  one  tiny  instant  I  could  see 
you  ..." 

"See,  my  Jewel  Without  Price,  the  sun  is 
rising,"  returned  Wong  Ting  Fu  gently,  hold 
ing  her  slender  hands  out  into  the  warmth. 
[81] 


"It  comes  to  warm  the  earth,  to  bid  the 
flowers  grow,  to  ripen  the  fruit,  to  bring  beauty 
to  the  world — all  these  things  have  you  told 
me!"  sighed  Eosy  May.  "And  what  the  sun 
is  to  the  earth  you  are  to  me,  Beloved  Master, 
for  what  am  I  without  you?" 

"It  is  true,"  assented  Wong  Ting  Fu,  his 
brown  eyes  misted  with  tenderness.  "And  be 
cause  of  that  all  things  beautiful  will  I  give 
to  you — and  nothing  which  is  ugly ! ' ' 

He  kept  his  word  in  the  days  which  followed, 
did  Wong  Ting  Fu,  once  a  prince  in  the  land 
of  cherry  blossoms  and  tolling  temple  bells. 
For  the  sake  of  Eosy  May  he  even  eschewed  the 
lilied  pipe  which  had  sapped  vigor  from  his 
limbs  and  strength  from  his  misted  brain,  so 
that  gradually  he  came  back  to  something  of 
his  former  strength  and  keenness  of  wit,  giving 
the  credit  whole-heartedly  to  Eosy  May. 

1 1  You  are  the  strength  of  my  soul,  the  breath 
of  my  nostrils,  0  Pearl  of  Great  Price!"  he 
would  say,  enfolding  her  in  his  arms. 

And:  "Love  of  My  Life,  what  would  I  be 
without  you!"  would  ask  Eosy  May  simply. 

Under  the  tender  shielding  care  of  Wong 
Ting  Fu  and  the  secure  knowledge  of  his  love 
Eosy  May  herself  bloomed  to  surprising  beauty. 

[82] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Color  flushed  her  pale  cheeks,  the  blue  unseeing 
eyes  sparkled  with  health.  It  was  the  delight  of 
Wong  Ting  Fu  to  see  her  passing  happily  from 
one  to  another  of  his  treasured  possessions, 
touching  them  delicately  with  an  exploring  fin 
ger,  or  to  watch  her  moving  around  in  the  tiny 
garden  he  built  for  her  upon  the  roof.  Hya 
cinths,  dwarf  pine  trees,  Chinese  tulips,  frisias 
nodding  in  the  sun — it  was  a  very  perfect  but 
tiny  garden.  But  as  Wong  Ting  Fu  said  with 
reason,  Rosy  May  would  never  know  how  tiny. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  Rosy  May  would  urge, 
laying  delicate  finger  tips  upon  upturned  petals. 
"What  color  are  these,  Wong?" 

"Blue — like  your  eyes,  Plumblossom, "  Wong 
Ting  Fu  would  laugh,  looking  down  upon  the 
hyacinth  blooms.  "And  yet  not  so  blue!" 

Or,  on  still  another  day:  "What  have  you 
seen  to-day?"  Rosy  May  would  urge  wistfully. 

"Great  ships  have  I  seen  coming  in  to  the 
landing  dock  to-day, ' y  he  would  relate  in  his  pre 
cise  English.  "Ships  from  distant  countries 
bringing  wonderful  things :  silks  and  satins  and 
spices  and  strange  foods  and  things  which  make 
music  ..." 

"I  see  them!"  would  sigh  Rosy  May  happily. 

So,  in  spite  of  the  dire  predictions  of  the 
dwellers  in  the  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights, 
[83] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

the  marriage  was  happy,  that  very  happiness 
proving  a  source  of  vexation  to  some  of  those 
prophesying  to  the  contrary. 

Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer  even  protested 
openly  in  the  resort  known  as  The  Gathering 
Place  of  the  Most  High,  giving  challenge  to  that 
happiness  as  he  cast  down  his  painted  fans  in 
an  attempt  to  discover  omens  unfavorable  to 
this  outlandish  marriage. 

"A  flower  plucked  from  an  alien  vine  gives 
forth  bitter  perfume,*'  he  said  boldly  to  Wong 
Ting  Fu  himself. 

"Love,"  retorted  Wong  Ting  Fu  with  con 
tempt,  "is  a  thing  passing  the  understanding 
of  such  as  thou.  For  I  ask  you :  Is  understand 
ing  a  dog  to  come  at  the  whistle  of  the  un 
worthy?" 

"But  two  things  and  two  alone  are  females 
born  for!"  argued  Sun  Yat  sullenly.  "The 
washing  of  pots  and  the  bearing  of  men  children. 
Yet  neither  of  these  has  thy  bride  accom 
plished.  ' ' 

1 '  Since  we  are — each  to  the  other — sufficient, 
wherefore  is  the  need  of  two  becoming  three!" 
returned  Wong  Ting  Fu  indifferently.  "In 
China  the  little  wife  walks  always  six  feet  be 
hind  the  master,  yet  my  little  wife,  being,  as 
[84] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

you  say,  blind,  walks  by  my  side — and  therefore 
are  we  closer!" 

Sun  Yat  narrowed  his  eyes  to  a  malicious  slit. 
"0  Young  and  Foolish  Brother,"  he  said  po 
litely,  "  never  has  a  man  so  loved  a  woman 
without  exposing  to  his  enemy  his  secret 
weakness. ' ' 

"When  the  enemy  comes,  Most  Highly  Re 
spected  Elder  Brother,"  returned  Wong  Ting 
Fu  equably,  "Wong  Ting  Fu  the  Manchu  will 
protect  his  own!" 

But  in  giving  forth  this  challenge  so  confi 
dently  and  in  so  readily  accepting  the  charge 
of  Rosy  May,  Wong  Ting  Fu  overlooked  the 
fact  that  possession  of  a  rare  jewel  cannot  be 
concealed,  however  humble  its  setting.  And 
that,  furthermore,  extolling  of  the  virtues  of 
that  same  jewel  is  directly  calculated  to  breed 
emotions  of  covetousness  and  envy  in  the  breast 
of  the  hearer. 

Rumors  of  the  beauty  of  Rosy  May  spread 
through  the  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights  like 
flame  through  prairie  grass,  leaving  a  spark 
here  and  a  spark  there,  and  creating  in  the 
breast  of  Yoh  Kee,  proprietor  of  The  Gathering 
Place  of  the  Most  High,  a  veritable  blaze. 
[85] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

He  was  far  from  being  a  prepossessing  per 
son,  was  Yoh  Kee,  who  came  to  Melbourne 
from  Canton  when  Sun  Lee,  the  former  pro 
prietor,  died  in  the  odor  of  great  sanctity  and 
his  body  was  shipped  back  to  China  in  state, 
enclosed  in  a  handsome  metallic  coffin  highly 
ornamented  with  crimson  dragons,  to  be  decor 
ously  followed  by  twenty  mourners  dressed  in 
white,  with  tiny  balls  of  wool  representing  tears 
suspended  from  their  hatbrims,  accompanied  by 
ten  Buddhist  priests  dressed  in  scarlet,  to  its 
final  resting-place  on  a  slope  carefully  chosen 
with  a  view  of  pleasing  the  departed  spirit  with 
its  esthetic  possibilities. 

"With  his  swollen  body  on  absurdly  tiny  legs 
surmounted  by  an  enormous  full  moon  face  de 
nuded  of  eyelashes  and  eyebrows,  Yoh  Kee  em 
bodied  in  his  unattractive  person  a  mingling 
of  the  vices  of  both  yellow  and  white  races. 
Openly  he  professed  an  admiration  of  the  cus 
toms  of  the  white  race,  clothing  his  body  in 
flashy  black  and  white  English  checked  suits, 
wearing  upon  his  huge  head  an  English  derby 
hat — for  which  both  races  laughed  at  him.  But 
because  of  the  property  inherited  from  the 
honorably  deceased  Sun  Lee,  he  was  accepted  in 
the  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights  as  a  man  of 
substance  and  therefore  entitled  to  due  respect. 
[86] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

And  if,  sometimes,  it  was  whispered  that  once, 
in  the  living-rooms  above  The  Gathering  Place 
of  the  Most  High,  through  sheer  wanton  temper 
Yoh  Kee  beat  a  slave  girl  to  death,  or  that  in 
that  black  past  behind  him,  upon  which  occasion 
ally  Yoh  Kee's  braggart  tongue  turned  a  sin 
ister  searchlight,  were  deeds  the  mere  relating 
of  which  would  suffice  to  send  chills  of  horror 
down  an  Occidental  backbone,  these  were  things 
never  repeated  within  the  hearing  of  the  Mel 
bourne  police. 

To  the  ears  of  Yoh  Kee,  degenerate,  mur 
derer,  and  superbrute,  therefore,  came  whispers 
of  the  beauty  of  Eosy  May,  inciting  a  passion 
of  envy  which  was  fanned  to  consuming  flame 
by  a  chance  sight  of  her  tender  white  face,  one 
perfect  evening,  when  Wong  Ting  Fu  was  tak 
ing  her  down  to  the  waterfront  to  sit,  hands 
clasped  idly  in  her  lap,  unseeing  eyes  turned  out 
over  the  gently  rippling  water. 

''Ah!"  said  Yoh  Kee  aloud,  standing  in  his 
ridiculous  black  and  white  checked  suit  and 
derby  hat,  looking  after  the  disappearing  Rosy 
May.  "The  words  of  Wong  Ting  Fu  indeed 
hold  a  measure  of  truth !  The  matter  of  sight 
less  eyes  is  of  little  moment  compared  with  such 
beauty.  And  there  are,  moreover,  times  when 
sightless  eyes  could  prove  of  advantage  in  a 
[87] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

wife "    An  evil  smile  twisted  his  ugly  face 

into  greater  repulsiveness. 

To  Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer  he  confided  his 
reflections  later  that  same  evening. 

"I  have  seen  the  little  white  wife  of  Wong 
Ting  Fu,"  he  told  him,  small  eyes  narrowed  to 
a  slit  of  contemplation.  "And  her  face  is  that 
of  a  lily  floating  upon  the  dark  waters  of  a 
pond  .  .  ." 

"She  is  blind,"  pointed  out  Sun  Yat  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"...  a  lily  floating  upon  the  dark  waters  of 
a  pond ! ' '  repeated  Yoh  Kee. 

Then,  suddenly:  "Listen  well,  Soothsayer, 
while  I  confide  to  you  that  which  Wong  Ting 
Fu  the  Manchu  has  himself  forgotten,  but  mem 
ory  of  which  burns  like  an  unextinguished  flame 
in  my  breast:  Once,  long  ago,  in  China,  did 
Wong  Ting  Fu  steal  from  my  waiting  arms  a 
bride  because  of  her  foolish  tears  and  protesta 
tions.  Wherefore  did  I  cause  her  pretty  throat 
to  be  slit  from  ear  to  ear  so  that  it  gaped  like 
a  crimson  mouth,  spilling  forth  her  insignifi 
cant  life.  Yet  because  Wong  Ting  Fu  himself 
has  gone  unpunished  is  there  a  stain  upon  my 
honor.  First  will  I  clear  my  honor  by  destroy 
ing  Wong  Ting  Fu,  and  then  to  his  spirit  shall 
come  the  mewing  of  a  blind  kitten !" 
[88] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Wong  Ting  Fu  has  sworn  to  protect  his 
own,"  pointed  out  Sun  Yat,  his  own  eyes  nar 
rowing  maliciously.  He  would  not  further  the 
plans  of  Yoh  Kee  by  a  single  overt  act,  nor  on 
the  other  hand  would  he  hinder  them  by  so  much 
as  a  warning,  his  craven  soul  already  rejoicing 
in  the  discomfiture  of  Wong  Ting  Fu  in  whom 
he  jealously  recognized  a  nobler  being. 

Yoh  Kee  smiled  a  smile  which  was  a  revela 
tion  of  cruelty.  ' '  Was  I  not  a  killer  of  men  in 
China?"  he  demanded.  "And  is  not  the  ad 
vantage  mine  in  that  Wong  Ting  Fu  knows  not 
Jiis  enemy?" 

"Even  so!"  agreed  Sun  Yat. 

There  came,  then,  a  beginning  of  evil  days  for 
Wong  Ting  Fu,  when  every  enterprise  to  which 
he  turned  his  hand  rebounded  upon  him  dis 
astrously  and  during  which  he  became  slowly 
aware  of  forces  banded  together  to  destroy  him. 

First  an  unexpected  visit  of  revenue  officers 
in  search  of  contraband  goods — goods  which 
Wong  Ting  Fu,  knowing  nothing  of  them  what 
ever,  was  naturally  surprised  to  find  cleverly 
concealed  beneath  the  boards  of  his  floor.  It 
cost  him  a  staggeringly  heavy  fine,  together  with 
a  sharp  warning,  that  altogether  unwelcome 
visit  of  the  revenue  officers,  a  fine  which  left 
[89] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Wong  Ting  Fu  counting  his  resources  with  a 
tiny  line  of  worry  between  his  curved  brows. 

On  another  evening  a  party  of  quiet  Orientals, 
apparently  sunk  deep  in  poppy-tinged  dreams, 
became  suddenly  and  amazingly  violent,  smash 
ing  his  expensive  furnishings  and  pipes  to  use- 
lessness,  necessitating  further  unwelcome  ex 
penditure.  After  that  surprising  evening  Wong 
Ting  Fu  sat  even  longer  in  thought  with  the 
line  of  worry  deepening  in  his  forehead.  Un 
doubtedly  he  had  made  a  powerful  enemy,  since 
even  in  the  simplest  things  he  had  a  vague  feel 
ing  of  powerful  forces  operating  against  him. 
But  who? 

Then  there  came  that  altogether  frightening 
time  when  Wong  Ting  Fu,  going  down  the  sea 
road  with  Rosy  May  on  his  arm,  was  set  upon 
by  a  gang  of  roughs  from  the  tramp  steamer 
Nancy  Lee.  And  even  as  he  went  down  under 
their  kicking,  stamping  boots  he  heard  Eosy 
May's  low  moan  of  utter  terror.  Only  the  op 
portune  arrival  of  the  Melbourne  police  saved 
the  life  of  Wong  Ting  Fu  from  flickering  out 
under  those  cruelly  heavy  boots  that  night. 
Miraculously,  although  bruised  and  beaten,  he 
had  no  bones  broken,  and  Eosy  May  he  found 
fallen  to  the  ground  in  a  heap  of  moaning 
terror. 

[90] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"I  am  afraid!"  she  sobbed  poignantly  as  he 
helped  her  up. 

"Be  not  afraid,  Little  Dove  Which  Nests  in 
My  Heart,"  he  soothed.  "Have  I  not  prom 
ised  to  you  all  things  beautiful — and  nothing 
ugly?"  " 

And,  looking  up  into  the  twinkling  stars  there 
was  in  the  tone  of  Wong  Ting  Fu  and  in  his 
quiet  face  a  something  of  challenge. 

Once  again,  with  Rosy  May  on  his  arm,  guid 
ing  patiently  her  uncertain  steps,  he  was  set 
upon  by  an  intoxicated  sailor  who  slapped  his 
face  roughly  with  a  coarse:  "Take  that,  yer 
damned  yeller  chink — a-takin'  up  with  a  white 
girl!" 

And  Wong  Ting  Fu,  the  blood  of  princes  riot 
ing  furiously  in  his  veins,  yet  remembering  in 
time  the  perpetual  darkness  surrounding  Rosy 
May  and  that  the  laws  of  Australia  favor  the 
white  man  and  not  the  yellow,  quietly  mopped 
the  blood  from  his  bruised  cheek  and  turned 
away,  catching  the  grimace  of  chagrin  distort 
ing  the  brutish  face  before  him. 

"...  and  nothing  which  is  ugly!"  repeated 
Wong  Ting  Fu  to  himself  through  clenched 
teeth.  There  was  in  his  heart  a  sort  of  dazed 
bewilderment.  All  he  asked  of  life  was  peace 
and  quiet  and  enough  to  care  tenderly  for  one 
[91] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

small  blind  woman.  Yet  even  this,  it  seemed,  he 
must  fight  for — and  fighting  an  unknown  enemy 
was  such  disheartening  work  .  .  . 

Then,  after  a  period  of  suspense  had  dragged 
by,  and  Rosy  May  was  beginning  to  complain 
at  being  deprived  of  her  evening  walks  by  the 
sea  she  so  loved,  came  the  afternoon  when  he 
returned  home  after  a  necessary  errand  to  hear 
his  rooms  echoing  with  shrill  screams  of  help 
less  terror. 

In  the  middle  of  the  tiny  garden  on  the  roof 
he  found  Rosy  May,  sightless  eyes  wide  with 
fright,  arms  outstretched  helplessly. 

"Wong  Ting  Fu  .  .  .  Wong  Ting  Fu!"  she 
sobbed  agonizingly. 

"What  has  happened,  Little  Heart ?"  he  de 
manded  anxiously  above  the  laboring  of  his 
lungs. 

She  sank  against  his  breast  with  a  sob  of 
relief. 

"A  man  .  .  .  here!*'  she  told  him  in  gasps. 
"He  said  .  .  .  oh,  horrible  things,  Wong. 
Never  have  I  heard  such  things  I  And  I  could 
not  see " 

"And  then?"  insisted  Wong  Ting  Fu,  his 
muscles  taut  beneath  his  satin  sleeves. 

"You  came  and  he  went  away." 

With  his  long  slender  hand  Wong  Ting  Fu 
[92] 


suddenly  lifted  one  of  her  smaller  white  ones 
clenched  tightly  in  the  agony  of  fear.  G-ently 
he  opened  it,  freeing  carefully  a  small  shred  of 
cloth  and  a  button. 

"So !"  said  Wong  Ting  Fu  very  quietly,  with 
something  terrible  in  that  very  quietness  as  he 
looked  down  at  a  bit  of  black  and  white  checked 
cloth.  And  once  again:  "So!"  said  Wong 
Ting  Fu. 

Tenderly  he  guided  the  trembling  Rosy  May 
down  the  narrow  stairs  to  the  room  with  the 
casement  windows,  establishing  her  on  the  nar 
row  couch,  heaping  the  scarlet  and  purple  pil 
lows  beneath  her  head,  smoothing  her  bright 
gold  hair  gently  with  his  hand,  until  the  quick 
ened  breathing  of  fear  changed  into  that  of 
slumber.  Then,  and  then  only,  did  he  go  to  a 
chest  of  carven  ebony  inlaid  with  pearl,  his 
groping  hand  emerging  with  a  short  curved 
blade  of  keen  steeL  Contemplatively  he  re 
garded  it. 

"The  teachings  of  Buddha  do  not  hold  with 
killing, ' '  he  said  to  himself  softly.  *  *  Yet  by  any 
law  and  by  any  creed  is  it  permitted  a  man  to 
slay  to  save  his  honor  or  to  protect  his  own!" 

Then,  sitting  there  in  the  room  with  the  scar 
let  curtains,  his  eyes  upon  the  sleeping  Rosy 
May,  Wong  Ting  Fu  prayed  long  and  fervently 
[93] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

to  the  Lord  Gautama  Buddha  and  afterwards — 
entirely  as  an  afterthought,  that  no  deity  might 
be  unpropitiated — he  prayed  to  the  pale  Christ 
of  the  Christians. 

Presently,  when  the  shadows  of  twilight  were 
filling  the  room,  he  awakened  Rosy  May.  "Eat, 
Little  Dove,  > '  he  commanded,  placing  upon  her 
knees  a  tray  bearing  snowy  kernels  of  rice,  pre 
served  ginger,  and  a  nourishing  thick  soup. 

When  she  had  finished  he  assisted  her  into  a 
robe  of  cherry  satin  embroidered  in  gold,  with 
ornaments  of  crystal  jade  and  emerald,  last  of 
all  adding  tiny  embroidered  slippers  and  plac 
ing  flowers  in  her  bright  hair. 

"And  is  it  a  feast  day?"  asked  Eosy  May 
in  bewilderment. 

"Perhaps  for  us — who  knows?"  returned 
Wong  Ting  Fu  strangely.  "And  now,  Plum- 
blossom,  it  is  necessary  that  I  leave  you  for  a 
short  time.  Sit  here  by  the  open  window  where 
the  waxen  frisias  are  blooming — thus  would  I 
hold  you  in  my  thoughts  until  my  return.  Your 
robe  is  red,  the  color  of  courage ;  your  hair,  the 
shade  of  garnered  sunlight.  Indeed  are  you 
beautiful  to-night,  Little  Princess.  And  be 
cause  where  beauty  is  thieves  come  to  plunder, 
so  must  the  arm  of  Wong  Ting  Fu  be  strong  to 
protect  the  wealth  of  the  beauty  which  is  his !" 
[94] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"You  are  so  strange!"  whispered  Rosy  May 
through  aching  throat.  "I  am  afraid,  Wong 
TingFu." 

" Strange?"  said  Wong  Ting  Fu  tenderly. 
"Not  so,  My  Rosebud.  Being  blind,  you  see 
strangeness  where  there  is  none ! ' ' 

After  which,  on  his  velvet  slippers,  carefully 
choosing  his  way,  Wong  Ting  Fu  went  to  the 
shop  of  Nat  Hong  Ku,  wealthy  merchant  from 
Soochow,  his  one  intimate  friend  in  the  Street 
of  a  Thousand  Delights. 

"0  Respected  Elder  Brother  of  Great  Wis 
dom!"  he  greeted  him,  coming  into  the  little 
room  behind  the  great  store  of  Nat  Hong  Ku 
and  seating  himself  beside  the  reclining  Nat 
Hong  Ku  after  due  exchange  of  courtesy.  "All 
these  things  has  the  Mudturtle  from  Canton 
done  to  me!"  Gravely  he  recited  his  experi 
ences.  "Wherefore  this  is  the  problem  which 
vexes  me:  If  this  Pudding  on  Legs  slay  me, 
there  remains  as  his  prey  my  little  wife.  If  I 
slay  her  to  protect  her  from  the  pig  from  Can 
ton,  then  shall  my  days  be  long  and  empty  of 
meaning!" 

"Indeed  so!"  agreed  Nat  Hong  Ku,  empty 
ing  his  tiny  scarlet-tasseled  pipe  and  looking 
regretfully  backward  over  his  own  life. 

"Yet  if  I  slay  the  little  wife  and  myself,  which 
[95] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

is  permitted  as  an  honorable  deed,  then  is  our 
next  life  a  business  of  uncertainty :  Who  knows 
that  we  shall  be  together?" 

"Even  so !"  agreed  Nat  Hong  Ku  cordially. 
"So  you  have  decided?" 

*  *  I  have  decided  to  slay  this  fat-bellied  frog  I ' ' 
emptying  his  own  pipe  with  decision. 

"Wisely  have  you  decided,  Dragon  Brood," 
spoke  Nat  Hong  Ku  thoughtfully,  his  lean 
powerful  face  turned  toward  Wong  Ting  Fu. 
"Truly  in  the  nostrils  of  the  worthy,  Yoh  Kee 
is  a  stinking  and  a  reproach!  Wherefore, 
should  you — ah — most  regrettably  fail,  I  will 
assume  care  of  your  little  wife." 

Hand  met  hand,  sealing  the  agreement,  and 
carefully  Nat  Hong  Ku  got  to  his  feet.  "Wait 
here,  O  Cousin  to  the  Yellow  Emperor,"  he 
bade.  "I  will  send  Yoh  Kee  to  you.  But  I  my 
self  shall  not  be  returning,  thus  avoiding  in 
formation  dangerous  both  to  myself  and  your 
august  person." 

"Even  so!"  agreed  Wong  Ting  Fu  in  ad 
miration. 

In  the  shadow  behind  the  door  he  waited 
patiently,  caressing  between  his  sinewy  fingers 
the  bright  curved  bit  of  steel,  listening  to  the 
softly  retreating  footsteps  of  Nat  Hong  Ku. 
[96] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

And  to  him  presently  came  Yoh  Kee,  his 
greedy  stomach  already  agape  for  the  rare  deli 
cacy  Nat  Hong  Ku  had  gravely  promised  him. 

"0  Creeping  Slime  from  the  Gutter — O  Fat- 
Bellied  Frog!"  greeted  Wong  Ting  Fu,  slam 
ming  the  door.  ' '  Many  things  have  you  done  to 
me  and  mine,  but  now — now!"  Something  im 
mense  and  terrible  seemed  to  emanate  from 
him,  eliciting  a  squeak  of  fear  from  Yoh  Kee. 
And  then,  since  even  a  cornered  rat  will  fight, 
desperately  he  flung  himself  forward  into  com 
bat  with  Wong  Ting  Fu,  their  shadows  mingling 
in  a  fantastic  mass  flickering  upon  the  opposite 
wall  .  .  . 

Just  what  took  place  in  that  back  room  of 
Nat  Hong  Ku  is  something  nobody  rightly 
knows  except  perhaps  Wong  Ting  Fu,  creeping 
home  through  the  alley  shadows  an  hour  later. 
Certainly  the  philosophical  Melbourne  police 
who  found  Yoh  Kee  two  weeks  later,  swollen 
face  upturned  in  a  distant  alley,  never  learned, 
abandoning  the  inquiry  after  fruitless  question 
ing  as  "just  another  Chink  case!" 

Even  Rosy  May,  adored  wife  of  Wong  Ting 
Fu,  knows  only  that  Wong  Ting  Fu  returned 
home  on  that  night,  seemingly  a  little  wearied. 

Long  he  stood  in  the  doorway  before  enter- 
[97] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

ing,  perhaps  feeling  the  give  of  a  huge  chest 
beneath  his  knee,  perhaps  still  choking  beneath 
the  pressure  of  iron  fingers  around  his  throat. 

"You  are  late!"  greeted  Rosy  May  plain 
tively. 

"Let  us  light  the  lanterns,  0  Bud  of  Beauty !" 
returned  Wong  Ting  Fu,  his  breath  rasping  in 
his  throat.  f  t  Since  for  us  it  is,  after  all,  a  feast 
day." 

Carefully  he  lit  tall  wax  candles  before  the 
bronze  Buddha  and  lighted  hanging  lanterns 
upon  the  wall  until  prisms  of  scarlet  and  purple 
and  vivid  blue  fell  across  the  soft  tones  of  the 
rug  from  China. 

"Tell  me  what  you  saw  on  your  way  here," 
urged  Eosy  May.  And  then  again,  with  a  trace 
of  wistfulness:  "You  are  late  ..." 

"I  was  delayed,"  explained  Wong  Ting  Fu, 
removing  his  torn  and  stained  coat  and  replac 
ing  it  with  a  finer  one.  And  at  something  in 
his  voice  Rosy  May  felt  suddenly  a  chill  wind 
blowing  across  her  heart. 

"I  am  afraid!"  she  cried,  beginning  to 
tremble. 

Wong  Ting  Fu  gathered  her  to  his  heart. 
"Be  not  afraid,  My  Lotus  Bud,"  he  soothed. 
"See,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  seen:  On  my 
way  here  I  passed  a  garden.  And  in  that  gar- 

[98] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

den  stood  a  single  flower.  A  most  beautiful 
flower,  Heart  of  My  Heart,  unfolding  all  its 
beauty  in  the  sun  of  love.  And  I  stopped  to 
look  at  the  flower,  marveling  at  its  beauty.  And, 
My  Pearl,  I  saw  then  in  the  heart  of  that  so 
beautiful  flower  a  creeping,  loathsome  thing 
threatening  the  very  life  of  the  flower.  So  I 
paused  to  destroy  the  creeping  thing " 

"And  the  flower  will  bloom!"  finished  Rosy 
May  happily,  dropping  her  bright  head  against 
his  satin-clad  shoulder. 

"And  the  flower  will  bloom!"  assented  Wong 
Ting  Fu,  looking  down  into  the  delicate  white 
face  against  his  breast. 


[99] 


"THE   GORGEOUS   JEST" 


IT  seems  incredible  in  this  day  of  labor  laws, 
vice  commissions,  and  other  palliatives  to 
the  misery  of  the  human  lot,  that  Loo  Sing 
Foo  should  have  purchased  for  a  sack  of  Chi 
nese  coins  all  the  beauty,  all  the  sweetness,  and 
all  the  natural  joyousness  which  was  Chia  Sung, 
obtaining  her  the  more  cheaply  because  of  the 
slight  infusion  of  white  blood  which  was  her 
casual  heritage. 

But  this,  although  the  restaurant  of  Loo  Sing 
Foo  with  its  peacock  feathers  and  fly-specked 
chandeliers  still  stands  in  that  street  in  Mel 
bourne  known  among  the  Chinese  as  The  Street 
of  a  Thousand  Delights,  is  a  story  of  an  alien 
civilization  lying  nearer  the  rising  sun,  a  story 
faintly  redolent  of  exotic  oriental  perfumes  cut 
occasionally  by  the  acrid  fumes  of  poppy  smoke, 
yet  holding  a  scattered  note  or  two  of  pure 
melody  akin  to  that  of  some  ancient  temple 
bell  worn  thin  with  the  usage  of  centuries  or 
the  measured  chanting  of  scarlet  robed  priests 
intoning  in  a  cloistered  garden. 
Even  the  very  characters  in  the  story  are 
[103] 


THE  STREET  OF.  A 

'slightly  fantastic,  like  dream  figures  glimpsed 
in  the  instant  of  waking:  Loo  Sing  Foo  the 
Magnificent,  with  his  great  yellow  strength  in 
which  lay  something  of  the  sleek  cruelty  of  a 
striped  jungle  tiger;  Chia  Sung  with  her  pearl 
white  face,  her  glory  of  bronze  hair,  and  her 
wistful,  long-lashed  gray  eyes;  Loo  Chang 
Yung  with  his  twisted  leg,  his  gentle  voice, 
and  his  poetic  soul,  slaving  away  his  life  as  a 
cashier  in  the  restaurant  of  Loo  Sing  Foo,  his 
inner  self  climbing  constantly  higher  in  search 
of  the  dreams  which  thronged  his  poet's 
brain — all  these  are  vaguely  distorted,  as  if  seen 
through  a  mist  of  that  same  poppy  smoke  so 
prevalent  in  the  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights. 

Chia  Sung  came  to  Loo  Sing  Foo  as  his  pur 
chased  bride,  sent  by  a  matchmaker  in  the 
Walled  City,  after  her  dainty  photograph  hap 
pened  to  hit  the  exact  center  of  his  august  fancy. 
Her  price  was  high,  a  fact  at  which  the  thrifty 
Loo  Sing  Foo  grumbled  exceedingly,  although 
to  Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer  he  boasted  of  this 
same  price  pridefully,  disdainfully  making  clear 
his  disapproval  of  the  laxly  raised  daughters 
of  the  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights. 

"  Shall  I  not  have  a  wife  reared  in  the  old 
custom  of  docility  and  obedience,  yielding  trust 
fully  to  my  guidance  and  seeing  in  me  all  the 
[104] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

virtues?"  he  demanded  of  the  interested  Sun 
Yat,  strutting  back  and  forth  across  the  floor 
of  the  Gathering  Place  of  the  Most  High,  con 
scious  that  he  had  the  eyes  and  ears  of  his  audi 
ence.  "And  what  against  all  these  is  a  matter 
of  a  thousand  pounds  English  to  a  wealthy  man 
like  myself?" 

"True,  0  Magnificent  One!"  agreed  Sun  Yat 
soothingly,  letting  fall  his  handful  of  painted 
ivory  sticks  and  bending  down  to  read  the 
omens  of  the  coming  marriage.  l  *  Yet  the  omens 
forecast  no  sons  from  the  marriage,  and  I  see  a 
gathering  cloud  ..." 

Loo  Sing  Foo,  momentarily  taken  aback,  re 
covered  his  poise.  "Chia  Sung  is  beautiful  as 
the  dawn  and  of  extraordinary  accomplishment 
— all  these  things  has  the  matchmaker  guaran 
teed,"  he  brought  out  haughtily.  "Wherefore 

it  may  be  I  shall  love  her.    As  to  the  other " 

he  shrugged  aside  the  prophecy  indifferently. 
* '  Cannot  another  female  body  less  beautiful  give 
forth  life?  When  Chia  Sung  shall  have  most 
regrettably  ceased  to  delight  my  days  can  I  not 
sell  her  where  beauty  is  desired  and  sons  are 
not — taking  to  myself  another  wife  less  beauti 
ful  but  more  praiseworthy  in  giving  me  the 
sons  of  my  desire,  thus  securing  to  myself  a 
pleasant  memory  of  love  and  the  certainty  of  a 
[105] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

son  to  pray  beside  my  grave?"  Proudly  he 
preened  himself  in  his  handsome  embroidered 
coat.  "For  love  is  a  tinted  bubble  of  beauty 
which,  even  after  its  bursting,  leaves  behind  its 
glowing  memory.  And,  I  ask  you,  what  is  old 
age  without  its  memories?"  he  finished. 

A  ripple  of  appreciation  ran  around  the 
gravely  listening  circle. 

"Truly  you  are  wise,  0  Younger  Brother," 
murmured  Nat  Hong  Ku  the  merchant  thought 
fully,  refilling  his  ornate  pipe,  eyes  narrowed 
as  he  thought  back  to  the  love  of  his  early  days. 
"For  what  is  old  age  without  its  memories?" 

"Yet  are  the  omens  unfavorable!"  brooded 
Sun  Yat.  "No  sons  .  .  .  and  a  creeping 
shadow  ..." 

Sen  Yeng,  brother  merchant  of  Nat  Hong  Ku, 
his  great  bulk  relaxed  comfortably  against  his 
cushions,  regarded  Loo  Sing  Foo  sourly.  "The 
bride  with  her  beauty  and  her  accomplishments 
may  not  love  you,  0  Magnificent  One, ' '  he  sug 
gested  bitterly,  remembering  of  his  own  experi 
ence  a  bride  who  had  failed  to  love  where  duty 
bade. 

"Am  I  not  The  Magnificent?"  demanded  Loo 

Sing  Foo.    1 1  Have  not  hearts  quickened  for  me 

since  first  the  shadow  of  down  darkened  my 

lip ?    ATii  I ' >    He  threw  his  handsome  head  back, 

[106] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

laughing  exultantly  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth. 
. "  It  is  indeed  a  matter  of  whether  I  shall  love 
the  little  bride,  not  the  bride  love  me ! ' ' 

From  where  he  reclined,  Loo  Chang  Yung, 
younger  brother  of  Loo  Sing  Foo,  raised  con 
templative  eyes  to  the  strutting  magnificence  of 
his  elder  brother.  "And  yet,"  he  observed 
gently, '  *  all  this  of  which  you  speak,  0  Peacock 
Spreading  Its  Feathers,  is  not  love!" 

The  eyes  of  the  two  met  and  clashed.  "Does 
a  cripple  speak  knowingly  of  love,  0  Foolish 
One?"  asked  Loo  Sing  Foo  bitingly. 

"Is  my  heart  crippled?"  disputed  Loo  Chang 
Yung  quietly.  "Am  I  not  a  poet,  and  does  not 
a  poet  feel?  And  is  not  love  a  bird  which  nests 
in  strange  branches?" 

A  roar  of  approval  greeted  this  sally. 

"Truly,  the  wit  of  the  poet  limps  not,  how 
ever  his  legs  be  bent!"  praised  Nat  Hong  Ku 
appreciatively,  laying  a  kindly  hand  on  the  slen 
der  shoulder  of  Loo  Chang  Yung. 

A  flash  of  sheer  fury  leaped  from  the  eyes  of 
Loo  Sing  Foo  as  he  regarded  the  younger 
brother  he  had  never  been  able  to  overawe  with 
his  magnificence.  Always,  in  spite  of  his  own 
far  greater  material  possessions,  in  spite  of  his 
physical  superiority,  in  spite  of  his  title  of  The 
Magnificent,  he  sensed  in  the  quiet  eyes  of  Loo 
[107] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Chang  Yung  a  lurking  disapproval  which  ran 
perilously  close  to  contempt.  There  were  even 
times  when  he  had  a  swift,  unsettling  intuition 
that  Loo  Chang  Yung  alone  saw  him  as  he 
really  was,  and  that  his  magnificence  was  only 
a  cloak  thinly  shielding  him  from  the  recogni 
tion  of  his  fellow  men.  Wherefore,  quite  natu 
rally,  he  hated  Loo  Chang  Yung,  tolerating  him 
only  because  he  was  useful  and  his  labor  cheap. 

"Some  day,  0  Thorn  in  My  Flesh,  will  I 
repay  your  insolence,"  he  said  now  to  Loo 
Chang  Yung,  restraining  his  fury.  i '  But  now — 
now  it  pleases  me  better  to  let  my  thoughts 
dwell,  as  befitting  a  bridegroom,  upon  the  flower 
coming  from  the  Walled  City  to  be  my  bride. ' ' 
A  pause,  while  his  eyes  ranged  contemptuously 
around  the  circle  of  watching  faces.  "And  the 
bride  will  love  me!"  he  challenged.  "For  am 
I  not  Loo  Sing  Foo,  The  Magnificent?" 

"Yet  are  the  omens  bad!"  murmured  Sun 
Yat  as  the  door  closed  behind  him,  wrinkling 
his  ancient  forehead.  "No  sons  and  a  spread 
ing  cloud  ..." 

Even  in  the  first  moment  when  she  stood  be 
fore  him  in  the  center  of  the  room  behind  his 
restaurant,    a    tired,    infinitely   pathetic    little 
figure  huddled  above  her  box  of  possessions, 
[108] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

long-lashed  gray  eyes  fearfully  seeking  his,  Loo 
Sing  Foo  decided  Chia  Sung  had  all  the  white 
beauty  of  lilies  dreaming  in  the  moonlight  or  of 
a  snow-clad  mountain  peak  in  the  rays  of  dawn. 
The  matchmaker  had  not  lied  in  the  recital  of 
her  beauty;  his  bargain  was  good. 

In  his  lordly  manner  he  strutted  up  and  down 
before  her,  noting  with  approval  her  wealth  of 
bronze  hair,  her  delicate  features,  the  small 
hands  and  feet.  Undoubtedly  her  heritage  of 
white  blood  showed,  but  not  unpleasantly  so. 

"Am  I  not  magnificent?"  he  demanded  re 
gally  of  the  weary  Chia  Sung. 

* '  None  more  so,  0  Great  One ! ' '  she  returned 
politely,  trying  to  subdue  the  trembling  of  her 
limbs,  yet  divining,  with  some  queer  prevision 
of  knowledge,  the  streak  of  cruelty  which  pre 
dominated  in  Loo  Sing  Foo,  like  a  scarlet  thread 
in  a  bit  of  dull  old  tapestry. 

"And  a  husband  for  any  bride,  however  beau 
tiful!"  pursued  Loo  Sing  Foo,  demanding  his 
meed  of  admiration  greedily. 

"Indeed!"  agreed  Chia  Sung,  sucking  in  her 
breath  courteously. 

"And  since  you  are  but  a  woman,  a  bearer  of 
men  children  and  a  washer  of  pans,  great  is  my 
condescension  in  stooping  to  lay  my  love  at  your 
feet,"  explained  Loo  Sing  Foo  loftily. 
[109] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

A  ripple  of  emotion  crossed  Chia  Sung's 
white  face.  '  *  Indeed  1 ' '  she  agreed,  bowing  her 
head  submissively. 

"And  doubtless  in  return  for  my  condescen 
sion  you  will  love  me  greatly?"  finished  Loo 
Sing  Foo,  stopping  before  her. 

A  rush  of  faint  color  came  and  went  in  Chia 
Sung's  face.  "How  should  I  dare?"  she  re 
turned  almost  inaudibly.  "How  should  I 
dare?" 

Loo  Sing  Foo  regarded  her  down-turned  face 
thoughtfully.  Had  the  drop  or  so  of  foreign 
blood  troubled  the  still  pool  of  her  docility? 
"Ah,  Little  Bud  Closed  Against  the  Sun  of 
Love,"  he  sighed  sentimentally.  "Beneath  the 
warmth  of  my  affection  shall  you  open,  expand 
ing  into  greater  beauty  ..." 

Into  the  room  came  Loo  Chang  Yung,  the 
restaurant  closed,  his  money  box  in  his  hands. 

"My  bride,  0  Foolish  Younger  Brother," 
said  Loo  Sing  Foo  harshly.  And  to  Chia  Sung : 
'  *  My  brother,  a  worthless  cripple,  who  lives  by 
my  bounty." 

Upon  the  poetic  vision  of  Loo  Chang  Yung 
the  wistful,  appealing  beauty  of  Chia  Sung 
burst  with  all  the  unexpectedness  of  a  rising 
sun,  her  weariness  stirring  him  to  pity. 

"She  is  tired,  0  Magnificent  One,  and  weak 
[110] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

from  her  long  journey,"  he  said  in  his  gentle 
voice.  "Moreover,  she  is  strange  in  her  new 
home.  Permit  her  to  rest  in  quiet." 

The  frightened  gray  eyes  met  his.  Impul 
sively  Chia  Sung  put  out  both  hands  to  the 
owner  of  the  gentle  voice.  "I  am  afraid!"  she 
shivered. 

Loo  Chang  Yung  took  the  outstretched  hands 
protectively,  marveling  at  their  sinallness.  "Be 
not  afraid,  Little  Troubled  Heart,"  he  soothed. 
"Why  should  there  be  fear  where  there  is  cause 
for  none?  Is  that  not  true,  0  Magnificent 
One?" 

But  Loo  Sing  Foo  stood  silent,  a  dark  frown 
upon  his  handsome  forehead,  hands  clenched 
in  his  wide  sleeves.  Docility,  submissiveness, 
obedience  .  .  .  and  yet  resistance  to  him,  The 
Magnificent  One.  Looking  from  Chia  Sung  to 
his  brother,  tiny  lines  of  cruelty  appeared  sud 
denly  around  his  mouth  and  eyes.  "Why  should 
there  be  fear  where  there  is  cause  for  none,  0 
Younger  Son  of  My  Mother?"  he  agreed  silkily. 

Royally  Loo  Sing  Foo  The  Magnificent  wooed 
Chia  Sung  of  the  lilting  laugh,  the  tiny  feet,  and 
the  flower-like  hands,  heaping  gifts  prodigally 
upon  her.  Jade  ornaments  for  throat,  ears,  and 
high  coiffure.  Silken  gowns  lavishly  embroi- 
'111] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

dered  in  scarlet,  black,  and  gold.  Fans  ex 
quisitely  painted  and  inlaid  with  pearl.  Bare 
confections  in  quaint  pots  and  baskets.  A  vic- 
trola  with  strange  Chinese  records  jostling 
American  jazz.  Even,  in  his  determination,  he 
condescended  to  the  singing  of  Cantonese  love 
ballads  in  his  flat,  nasal  voice. 

All  of  which  was  wasted  upon  the  inapprecia- 
tive  Chia  Sung.  Outwardly  obedient,  Chia  Sung 
remained  as  remote  in  reality  as  some  far  away 
bird  skimming  the  upper  cloud  circles  or  a  mer 
maid  deep  in  the  caverns  of  a  fathomless  sea. 
Only  in  the  glance  which  occasionally  sought 
and  found  Loo  Chang  Yung  was  any  quality  of 
emotion  visible.  And  always,  when  Loo  Sing 
Foo  put  his  inevitable  question  in  one  of  its 
many  forms,  came  back  her  unchanging  an 
swer. 

"And  perhaps,  0  Most  Beautiful,  the  ice  sur 
rounding  your  heart  is  beginning  to  melt  in  the 
warmth  of  my  love?"  would  query  Loo  Sing 
Foo  smoothly. 

And:  "Are  there  not  mountain  tops  upon 
which  the  ice  never  melts,  however  warm  the 
Sun,  0  Magnificent  One?"  would  retort  Chia 
Sung  demurely. 

Meanwhile  the  dwellers  of  The  Street  of  a 
Thousand  Delights  recognized  the  dilemma  of 
[112] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Loo  Sing  Foo  with  restrained  glee,  tongues 
tucked  slyly  in  yellow  cheeks,  eyes  discreetly 
downcast  as  he  passed,  only — as  he  well  knew — 
to  open  wide  in  derision  upon  his  retreating 
back. 

And  once,  in  the  Gathering  Place  of  the  Most 
High,  Sen  Yeng  the  merchant  dared  to  question 
him  openly.  "You  have  found  your  bride — 
ah — entirely  satisfactory?'*  he  said  purringly. 

"She  has  the  beauty  of  a  budding  rose,"  re 
torted  Loo  Sing  Foo  sturdily.  *  *  Could  any  man 
ask  more?" 

But  his  pride  suffered  mightily  beneath  the 
titter  which  smote  his  ears  as  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  and  beneath  the  understanding 
smile  in  the  quiet  eyes  of  Loo  Chang  Yung. 

Slowly  the  situation  waxed  intolerable  as  he 
redoubled  his  efforts  to  batter  his  way  into  the 
stubborn  heart  of  Chia  Sung. 

"Write  for  me  a  song,  O  Poet,"  he  com 
manded  regally  of  Loo  Chang  Yung.  "A  song 
to  melt  a  heart  of  stone." 

And  Loo  Chang  Yung,  smiling  a  strange 
smile,  wrote  a  song  for  Chia  Sung  of  a  caged 
bird  beating  against  bars. 

In  his  flattened,  nasal,  sing-song  voice,  Loo 
Sing  Foo  intoned  the  song,  gratified  to  see  tears 
in  Chia  Sung's  almond-shaped  gray  eyes. 
[113] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"  You  are  moved,  0  Tender  Little  Heart?"  lie 
questioned  eagerly. 

"By  the  song,"  admitted  Chia  Sung.  "Yet 
is  the  song  not  your  song,  0  Magnificent  One. 
For  where  there  is  no  heart  there  can  be  no 

song.  And  in  place  of  a  heart  you  have " 

she  paused  provokingly. 

"Yes?"  demanded  Loo  Sing  Foo  eagerly. 

"A  picture  of  your  august  self,"  finished 
Chia  Sung. 

Slowly  the  red  of  anger  flushed  Loo  Sing 
Foo's  haughty  face.  With  one  snap  he  broke 
the  quaint  guitar  over  his  knee. 

"Not  thus  is  the  manner  of  a  bride  raised 
in  the  habit  of  obedience,"  he  said  stormily, 
"Perhaps  unkindness  will  soften  the  stubborn 
heart  which  fails  to  yield.  Henceforth  not  the 
gown  of  silk,  the  many  cushioned  bed,  the  costly 
food,  nor  even  the  gift  of  freedom,  until  the 
dawn  of  reason  dispels  that  willful  stubborn 
ness." 

Into  the  half -closed  eyes  of  Chia  Sung  came 
the  familiar  glint  of  resistance. 

"As  you  wish,  0  Magnificent  One!"  she  said 
softly.  And  from  that  very  softness  Loo  Sing 
Foo  received  a  chilling  premonition  of  defeat. 

Days  followed,  during  which  Chia  Sung,  look- 
[  114  ] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

ing  out  through  shuttered  windows  at  the  clutter 
and  untidiness  of  The  Street  of  a  Thousand  De 
lights,  sank  into  despair  and  her  scarlet  lips 
faded  to  delicate  pink.  And  yet  the  strange 
something  which  stiffened  her  to  unyielding  re 
sistance  persisted.  Poor  little  Chia  Sung,  a 
thousand  times  on  the  point  of  tearful  capitula 
tion,  failed  to  comprehend  that  the  strange  stub 
bornness  was  part  of  her  mixed  inheritance, 
coming  down  to  her  in  devious  and'untraceable 
ways  from  ancestors  facing  stake  and  faggot 
unflinchingly  for  the  sake  of  upholding  a  prin 
ciple.  In  her  despair  she  sobbed  protest  against 
this  quality  of  spirit  from  which  her  weaker 
flesh  rebelled,  and  Loo  Chang  Yung,  passing  her 
door  in  the  quiet  evenings  after  the  restaurant 
closed,  felt  his  heart  expand  with  pity. 

In  his  gentle  way  he  undertook  to  lighten  her 
punishment  with  unexpected  surprises — now  a 
packet  of  appetizing  food  to  enrich  her  meager 
fare ;  now  a  flower  tossed  hurriedly  through  the 
grating  in  her  door ;  once  a  queer  puzzle  game 
to  make  long  hours  shorter;  sometimes — when 
he  was  certain  Loo  Sing  Foo  was  far  away — a 
whispered  snatch  of  conversation. 

And  finding  in  the  gentleness  of  Loo  Chang 
Yung  a  something  she  had  never  known  be 
fore,  the  stubborn  heart  of  Chia  Sung  turned 
[115] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

to  his  gentleness  as  naturally  and  inevitably  as 
a  flower  opening  to  sunlight. 

There  came,  then,  an  evening  when  Loo 
Chang  Yung,  pushing  his  hand  through  the 
grating  with  a  budding  flower,  felt  soft  lipa 
pressed  against  it  and  withdrawn  in  a  panic. 
After  which  he  went,  in  a  daze  of  happiness, 
and  sat  upon  the  roof  beneath  the  stars,  living 
again  that  soft  pressure  upon  his  hand,  his 
heart  alternately  reechoing  with  the  name  of 
Chia  Sung  and  hot  with  bitterness  against  Loo 
Sing  Foo. 

Once  again,  on  the  very  next  day,  Loo  Sing 
Foo,  finding  the  situation  intolerable  to  his 
pride,  and  feeling  his  overstrained  patience 
slipping,  put  his  inevitable  question  to  Chia 
Sung. 

"And  doubtless,  O  Pearl  of  Great  Price,  you 
are  beginning  to  love  me  greatly?" 

Chia  Sung,  her  ears  filled  with  the  sound  of 
a  gentler  voice,  made  her  unchanging  answer 
with  the  familiar  shudder  of  repulsion.  "How 
should  I  dare,  0  Magnificent  One,  how  should 
I  dare!" 

Only  this  time  the  mighty  arm  of  Loo  Sing 

Foo  struck  out  in  exasperation,  crushing  the 

words  back  against  her  lips,  and  she  fell  to  the 

floor,  a  bruised  little  huddle,  not  even  under- 

[116] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

standing  in  that  last  moment  of  consciousness 
whence  came  the  strength  to  defy  him. 

There  the  irate  Loo  Sing  Foo  left  her,  neg 
lecting  to  lock  the  door  in  his  rage,  so  that  it 
was  Loo  Chang  Yung  who  came  at  length  and 
lifted  her  to  the  narrow  couch  beside  the  wall, 
bathing  the  white  face  gently  until  the  gray, 
long-lashed  eyes  opened  upon  him. 

"I  want  to  die!"  said  Chia  Sung  pitifully 
through  bruised  lips.  ' '  I  want  to  die ! " 

"0  Little  Mourning  Dove!"  remonstrated 
Loo  Chang  Yung.  "Life  may  yet  hold  many 
things  for  you." 

The  bruised  lips  twisted  into  a  bitter  smile. 

"There  is,  for  instance,  love  ..."  explained 
Loo  Chang  Yung  softly,  a  tenderness  shining 
forth  in  his  disturbed  face. 

"Love  is  not  for  the  purchased  bride  of  Loo 
Sing  Foo,  the  Magnificent."  Her  fluttering 
hands  went  to  her  breast.  "Of  what  use,  Loo 
Chang  Yung,  is  a  woman  in  this  world  of  ment " 

"In  the  days  when  the  two-inch  shortness 
of  my  leg  seemed  a  great  trouble,"  said  Loo 
Chang  Yung  in  a  low  tone,  "it  seemed  to  me  a 
cripple  was  of  no  use  in  a  world  of  straight- 
legged  men!  Yet  now  I  think  differently. 
Other  worlds,  other  ways;  other  races,  other 
customs.  See,  Little  Bird  Beating  Its  Wings 
[117] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Against  Bars,  there  is  a  land  where  the  little 
wife  walks  beside  her  husband  instead  of  ten 
paces  behind;  where  the  little  wife  is  served 
first  at  table ;  and  where  the  beauty  of  the  wife 
comes  before  the  strength  of  the  husband.  In 
this  land  is  a  religion  which  thinks  first  of  the 
soul  and  not  of  the  twisted  body,  a  religion  for 
the  troubled  at  heart  ..." 

1 '  Ahi ! ' '  exclaimed  Chia  Sung  eagerly.  '  *  Tell 
me  of  this  way  of  thinking. ' ' 

1 '  It  is  called  the  Jesus  way, ' '  said  Loo  Chang 
Yung  simply. 

Then,  sitting  there  holding  her  fevered  hands 
in  his,  in  his  quaint  colorful  speech,  Loo  Chang 
Yung  endeavored  to  make  clear  something  of 
the  ideal  of  the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth.  "And 
because  it  is  a  faith  for  the  troubled  in  heart, 
it  called  to  me,"  he  finished. 

"It  is  like  the  tales  told  to  little  frightened 
children  which  soothe  them  to  quiet  sleep!" 
marveled  Chia  Sung,  breath  fluttering  through 
parted  lips.  "Yet  when  I  look  at  you,  Loo 
Chang  Yung,  I  understand.  For  always  I  see 
a  straight  and  shining  you,  and  never  the  leg 
which  limps." 

"0  Little  Vine  Which  Twines  Around  the 
Pillars  of  My  Heart!"  said  Loo  Chang  Yung, 
with  the  sentimentality  of  a  Chinese  poet. 
[118] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"But  there  is  Loo  Sing  Foo!"  reminded 
Chia  Sung,  tears  in  her  gray  eyes.  "If  but 
you  and  I  together  could  travel  the  Jesus  way, 
Loo  Chang  Yung  .  .  ." 

"As  you  say,"  agreed  Loo  Chang  Yung  with 
a  sigh.  '  *  There  is  the  Magnificent  One. ' ' 

And,  looking  up  at  that  very  instant,  Chia 
Sung  barely  suppressed  a  scream  of  sheer  ter 
ror  as  Loo  Sing  Foo  advanced  into  the  room, 
a  something  sinister  exuding  from  him  which 
chilled  the  blood  in  her  veins. 

' '  Am  I  not  magnificent  ? ' '  demanded  Loo  Sing 
Foo  gutturally  of  Chia  Sung,  grinning  with 
rage. 

"None  more  so!"  acknowledged  Chia  Sung 
through  white  lips. 

"Then,  0  Little  Flower  Which  Blooms  for 
Another,  it  is — ah — most  unfortunate  that  you 
have  failed  to  love  me.  For  shall  Loo  Sing 
Foo  the  Magnificent  sip  honey  from  the  cup 
yielded  to  a  cripple?  Not  so!  Wherefore" — 
he  paused,  prolonging  the  moment  of  suspense 
— "wherefore  I  will  sell  you  where  the  beauty 
meant  to  delight  a  husband  shall  be  a  source 
of  joy  to  many ! ' ' 

"You  do  not  dare!"  cried  Loo  Chang  Yung 
furiously,  his  gentle  eyes  aflame. 

"And  wherefore?"  challenged  Loo  Sing  Foo 
[119] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

with  a  shrug.  "For  of  what  use  is  a  flower 
without  perfume;  a  lamp  without  a  burning 
wick;  a  setting  without  a  jewel?  Or  perhaps, 
Fool,  you  have  wealth  with  which  to  pay  the 
purchase  price?"  Maliciously  he  waited  while 
Loo  Chang  Yung's  downcast  face  proclaimed 
his  poverty.  Then,  indifferently,  he  strutted 
toward  the  door. 

* '  Of  what  use  to  look  the  door  of  a  cage  when 
the  singing  bird  has  flown?"  he  questioned,  as 
he  left  the  door  open  behind  him. 

"Do  not  grieve,  Little  Mourning  Dove!" 
urged  Loo  Chang  Yung,  raising  Chia  Sung  with 
her  tear-stained  face  and  pitifully  drooping 
mouth  in  his  arms. 

"You  heard?"  Frantically  her  hands  beat 
against  his  breast.  "0  One  Who  Holds  My 
Heart  in  His  Hands,  you  will  not  let  this  thing 


A  pause.  Incense  spluttered  in  its  burner. 
Chia  Sung  placed  her  lips  close  to  his  ear. 
"Kill  him!"  she  whispered  breathlessly.  "If 
you  love  me — then  kill  him ! ' ' 

A  longer  pause.  Anxiously  she  hung  against 
him,  eyes  imploring. 

"Should  I  raise  my  hand  against  the  other 
son  of  my  mother?"  questioned  Loo  Chang 
[120] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Yung  sorrowfully.  ' '  Not  thus  is  the  Jesus  way, 
0  Breath  of  My  Life!" 

"And  am  I  nothing?"  sobbed  Chia  Sung 
poignantly. 

Quaintly,  in  his  old  world,  stilted  manner, 
Loo  Chang  Yung  made  it  very  clear  that  she 
was  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  the  beating  of 
his  heart,  the  pulsing  in  his  veins. 

"Then,"  argued  Chia  Sung  passionately,  "if 
these  things  be  so — kill  him!" 

Unhappy  eyes  stared  into  unhappy  eyes.  Loo 
Chang  Yung  held  Chia  Sung  closer. 

' l  Believe  with  me,  Chia  Sung, ' '  he  murmured. 
"Only  have  faith  and  all  will  be  well." 

Another  pause.  And  then,  of  a  sudden,  all 
the  hardness  went  out  of  Chia  Sung.  She  re 
laxed  in  his  anxious  arms. 

"Because  I  love  you,  I  will  have  faith,"  she 
said  sobbingly.  "Yet  should  the  Jesus  god  fail, 
then  will  I  send  my  soul  to  rejoin  my  ancestors. 
For  how  could  I,  loving  you,  rest  in  the  arms 
of  another?" 

"Chia  Sung!" 

"Without  sight  of  your  face  I  should  be  as  a 
flower  deprived  of  sun, ' '  sobbed  Chia  Sung. 

After  he  had  gone  she  fell  upon  her  knees 
beside  the  window,  looking  up  to  the  quiet  stars, 
[121] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

fiercely  tormented  by  an  absence  of  symbols  to 
cling  to.  "  0  Jesus  god ! ' '  said  little  Chia  Sung, 
tears  rolling  down  her  white  cheeks.  "I,  Chia 
Sung,  will  believe — yet  strain  not  that  belief 
beyond  the  point  of  breaking!" 

Hurrying  through  the  sights,  the  smells,  the 
puddles  and  littered  refuse  of  a  population  in 
different  to  laws  of  sanitation,  Loo  Sing  Foo 
stopped  at  the  house  of  one  Sun  Lee,  ostensibly 
a  purveyor  of  rare  spices,  to  the  initiate  a  killer 
of  men,  plying  his  profession  honorably,  not  for 
personal  reasons,  but  purely  as  a  matter  of 
business. 

Placidly  sipping  scalding  hot  tea  from  a  blue 
Canton  bowl,  he  received  Loo  Sing  Foo  with 
surprise.  "Greeting,  0  Magnificent  One!"  he 
greeted  politely.  "My  humble  dwelling  is 
honored  by  the  dust  from  your  august  foot 
steps." 

Indifferently  Loo  Sing  Foo  shrugged  aside 
his  courtesy.  "You  are  a  killer  of  men,"  he 
said  bluntly  to  Sun  Lee. 

"I  am  a  cleanser  of  honor,  a  restorer  of  face, 
a  riddance  to  enemies,  a  payer  of  revenge!" 
protested  Sun  Lee,  his  face  creasing  into  a  thou 
sand  wrinkles.  "My  hand  is  old  yet  steady; 
my  feet  are  slow  but  noiseless.  I  know  a  poison 
[  122  ] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

which  leaves  no  trace  for  the  bothersome  for 
eign  devils  with  their  meddling  ways. ' ' 

"Yet,"  said  Loo  Sing  Foo  significantly,  "sup 
pose  a  wise  man  had  two  enemies,  and  the  one 
died  suddenly,  leaving,  say — ah — some  article 
by  which  the  foreign  devils  would  conclude  the 
other  had  killed  him!" 

"The  foreign  devils  would  surely  kill  that 
other!"  returned  Sun  Lee  cheerfully,  finishing 
his  bowl  of  tea. 

* '  Thus  ridding  the  wise  man  of  two  enemies, 
and  causing  him  to  gain  face  as  the  originator 
of  such  a  satisfying  revenge, ' '  finished  Loo  Sing 
Foo,  laying  down  a  small  pouch  which  chinked, 
beside  which  he  placed  a  knife. 

Sun  Lee  pursed  his  thick  lips  thoughtfully. 
1 '  The  knife  ? "  he  inquired. 

"Is  the  knife  of  my  brother,  the  cripple,"  ex 
plained  Loo  Sing  Foo. 

"A  most  estimable  young  man ! ' '  praised  Sun 
Lee  politely. 

"Who  will  perhaps  not  be  a  cripple  in  that 
world  to  which  the  quick  justice  of  the  foreign 
devils  will  speedily  send  him." 

* '  A  kindly  thought ! ' '  purred  Sun  Lee.  '  *  And 
the  other?" 

"There  is  a  merchant,  one  Hong  Fong,  whose 
manners  have  at  times  annoyed  me, ' '  informed 
[123]  ' 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Loo  Sing  Foo  graciously.  "Beside  which  I 
covet  his  greatly  inferior  eating-house." 

1 1  Ah ! ' '  agreed  Sun  Lee.  Then :  ' '  In  the  mat 
ter  of  a  double  killing  such  as  this  the  price 
should  be  double." 

"I  have  paid  you  well,"  frowned  Loo  Sing 
Foo.  l '  Do  then  thy  work  well,  0  Gorging  Pig ! ' ' 

Sun  Lee  sat  studying  the  door  which  closed 
behind  the  back  of  his  visitor  with  mingled  emo 
tions,  the  ruffled  feathers  of  his  pride  angrily 
resentful. 

"Truly,  0  Arrogant  One,"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  "I  should  prefer  to  sink  this  knife  in 
your  haughty  back.  Yet  is  business  business, 

and  I  am  an  honorable  man "  Greedily  he 

proceeded  to  the  pleasant  task  of  counting  the 
sack  of  coins.  This  highly  agreeable  perform 
ance  finished,  he  lifted  the  knife  thoughtfully. 

"AM!"  he  said  aloud,  thinking  of  Loo 
Chang  Yung  and  his  gentle,  courteous  ways. 
"Truly  it  is  a  pity  for  such  a  gentle  throat  to 
be  stretched  by  the  rope  of  the  foreign  devils. 
Yet  is  business  business!" 

And  in  his  turn,  seeking  the  consolation  of  a 
sympathetic  listener,  Loo  Chang  Yung  went  to 
Nat  Hong  Ku,  wealthy  merchant  and  wearer  of 
the  title,  "Most  Wise." 

[124] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"0  You  Who  Have  Been  A  Lover,"  he 
greeted,  sinking  down  into  the  heap  of  cushions 
indicated.  "Listen  to  the  tale  of  one  who  is 
also  a  lover,  and  then  bury  the  tale  deeply  in 
your  heart  that  the  merely  curious  may  not 
read. ' ' 

To  the  interested  Nat  Hong  Ku,  his  narrow, 
powerful  face  wreathed  in  fumes  which  served 
only  to  clarify  his  keen  Oriental  brain,  he  re 
lated  the  story  of  Loo  Sing  Foo,  Chia  Sung,  and 
himself. 

"And  she  loves  me,  a  cripple!"  he  finished 
exultantly,  his  voice  trembling  with  emotion. 
1  *  Many  things  have  I  lacked  in  life ;  Chia  Sung 
would  repay  for  all." 

"Why  not — ah "  suggested  Nat  Hong  Ku 

delicately,  having  no  love  for  the  overbearing 
Loo  Sing  Foo. 

Loo  Chang  Yung  shrugged.  "It  is  not  the 
teaching  of  the  Jesus  god,"  he  explained. 

' '  Ah ! "  A  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sizzling 
of  an  opium  cube.  Nat  Hong  Ku  considered. 
"For  me  the  old  customs  and  the  old  gods,"  he 
said  finally.  "Yet  you  are  young,  and  to  the 
young  is  ever  the  need  of  change.  Which  is  as 
it  should  be,  since  before  progress  must  come 
change."  Again  he  considered  deeply.  "Be 
not  disturbed,  0  Younger  Brother,"  he  coun- 
[125] 


,THE  STREET  OF  A 

seled.    "For  who  can  know  to-day  what  is  on 
the  knees  of  the  gods  for  to-morrow?" 

Vaguely  cheered,  Loo  Chang  Yung  took  his 
departure.  And  once  again  Nat  Hong  Ku  con 
sidered  long  and  deeply. 

"A  man  grown  big  with  arrogance  is  like  a 
pig's  bladder  puffed  over-full  of  air,"  he 
brought  out  profoundly  at  last.  '  *  Needing  but 
the  prick  of  a  pin  to  cause  his  collapse  into 
nothingness." 

Clapping  his  hands,  he  summoned  a  servant. 
"I  would  speak  with  Sun  Lee,  the  Killer,"  he 
commanded. 

He  sat  on,  thinking  of  certain  happenings  in 
his  own  past,  until  the  fat  face  of  Sun  Lee  ob 
truded  upon  his  vision. 

1 '  Greeting,  0  Highly  Respected  One ! "  he  said 
courteously  to  Sun  Lee.  "Have  then  a  pipe 
with  me,  a  scarlet  pipe  with  tassels  of  gold  as 
befitting  your  station. ' ' 

The  several  chins  of  Sun  Lee  quivered  with 
pleasure  as  he  responded  with  fulsome  flatteries 
which  Nat  Hong  Ku  cut  short. 

"You  are  a  killer  of  men,"  he  observed 
gently. 

"Indeed  so!"  assented  Sun  Lee  pridefully. 
"A  most  necessary  occupation,  0  Most  Wise." 

"Indeed  so!"  agreed  Nat  Hong  Ku  politely. 
[126] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Yet  for  a  man  of  such  delicate  sentiment  and 
understanding,  a  most  difficult  profession." 

"Business  is  business!"  shrugged  Sun  Lee 
deprecatingly. 

"Yet  where  business  can  be  combined  with 
sentiment?"  suggested  Nat  Hong  Ku. 

"That  is  indeed  a  rare  opportunity!"  ad 
mitted  Sun  Lee,  smacking  his  thick  lips  over 
a  tumbler  of  Chinese  rice  whiskey  cut  with 
anise. 

"Then  listen  well,"  commanded  Nat  Hong 
Ku  urbanely.  And  in  his  dreamy  way,  in  his 
exquisitely  modulated  Oxford  voice,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  tell  the  childlike  Sun  Lee  the  un 
happy  love  tale  of  Loo  Chang  Yung  and  Chia 
Sung,  dwelling  upon  the  pathos  of  their  situa 
tion  until  tears  rolled  down  the  fat  cheeks  of 
Sun  Lee. 

"And  so,  unless  Loo  Sing  Foo  is — ah — re 
moved,  they  must  be  forever  separated,"  he 
finished. 

With  the  name  of  Loo  Sing  Foo,  however, 
Sun  Lee  recalled  his  profession. 

"It  is  sad,"  he  agreed  philosophically. 
"Yet  is  business  business." 

"Nobly  said,"  concurred  Nat  Hong  Ku 
keenly,  depositing  a  fat  sack  bursting  with 
coins  at  his  feet.  "And  a  good  deed  well  done 
[127] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

should  be  handsomely  repaid."  Then,  as  Sun 
Lee  rose  to  his  feet:  "My  own  daughter  I 
shut  into  a  cage  .  .  .  and  she  died!"  he  said 
softly.  "Wherefore  will  I  give  the  gift  of 
freedom  to  another  little  caged  bird,  and  per 
haps  her  spirit  will  be  pleased." 

In  a  dazed  stupor  Sun  Lee  found  his  way  to 
the  street,  clutching  in  his  fat  hands  the  bulg 
ing  sack  of  coins,  a  thinner  and  less  weighty 
sack  of  coins  concealed  in  his  wide  sleeve,  his 
fuddled  wits  grappling  with  the  problem  pre 
senting  itself  to  a  man  of  scrupulous  honor. 

"If  I  kill  the  merchant  and  Chang  Yung  is 
hanged,  then  will  I  frustrate  the  purpose  of 
Nat  Hong  Ku,  who  is  a  mighty  man!"  he 
reasoned  unhappily.  "Yet  if  I  kill  Loo  Sing 
Foo,  and  not  the  merchant,  I  cannot,  as  a  man 
of  honor,  retain  the  money  of  Loo  Sing  Foo, 
nor  could  I  return  it,  Loo  Sing  Foo  being — ah 
— regrettably  dead!" 

Then,  in  one  swift  brilliant  conclusion,  he 
achieved  a  solution,  thoughtfully  hefting  one 
sack  and  then  the  other  in  his  pudgy  hands. 

"Business  is  business!"  said  Sun  Lee  aloud 
thriftily.  "And  the  sack  of  Nat  Hong  Ku  is 
more  than  twice  as  heavy — wherefore  shall  I 
slay  Loo  Sing  Foo.  And  the  sack  he  has  given 
to  me  will  I,  in  turn,  give  to  the  lovers  as  a 
[128] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

bridal  gift — which  is  doubtless  what  the  spirit 
of  Loo  Sing  Foo  would  prefer.  Wherefore 
will  my  honor  be  clean,  the  pathway  of  the 
lovers  clear,  and  I  will  gain  standing  with  Nat 
Hong  Ku,  who  is,  when  all  is  said,  a  man  of 
power.  Alii — what  a  gorgeous  jest!  The 
money  which  was  to  have  bought  a  necklace 
of  rope  for  Loo  Chang  Yung,  the  cripple,  shall 
buy  him  as  a  necklace  the  soft  arms  of  a  bride ! ' ' 

Then,  standing  there  in  the  bright  moonlight, 
before  setting  out  upon  business  which  in 
volved  leaving  Loo  Sing  Foo  in  an  alleyway 
with  his  arrogant  face  bruised  into  the  mud 
and  his  magnificence  sadly  dabbled,  Sun  Lee 
laughed  great  peals  of  Gargantuan  laughter 
until  tears  ran  down  his  fat  cheeks  and  his  fat 
stomach  quivered  like  a  jelly  pudding. 

A  passing  Chinaman  in  a  black  skull  cap, 
his  arms  folded  deeply  in  his  black  cotton 
sleeves,  paused  to  inquire  the  cause  of  his 
merriment. 

"I  laugh,  0  Brother  to  a  Toad,"  said  Sun 
Lee  with  dignity,  "at  a  gorgeous  jest  .  .  . 
a  most  gorgeous  jest!" 

But  prudently  he  refrained  from  further  ex 
planation. 


[129] 


"MEI-LI   THE   BEAUTIFUL" 


IT  was  Moy  Yeng,  who  had  loved  her,  who 
found  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  floating  face 
upward  in  the  silver  waters  of  the  sunken 
pool,  agitated  goldfish  flashing  away  to  either 
side  of  her  in  swift  red  flight,  upon  her  slim 
throat  the  violet  imprints  of  ten  powerful 
fingers. 

And  because-,  even  in  that  moment  of  violent 
death,  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  was  still  fair,  Moy 
Yeng,  who  was  both  poet  and  artist,  disre 
garded  his  grief  to  pay  involuntary  tribute  to 
that  deathless  beauty. 

"Mei-Li  .  .  .  always  the  Beautiful!"  he 
sighed  sorrowfully,  looking  downward  to 
where  silver  rays  of  moonlight  impacted 
against  that  floating  face.  And  then:  "Yet 
is  beauty  a  troubled  possession!" 

In  which,  without  knowing  it,  he-  epitomised 
the  short  career  of  Mei-Li  in  a  single  pithy 
sentence. 

Looking  at  the  tragically  brief  life  of  Mei-Li 
from  its  very  beginning  in  the  yamen  of  a 
mighty  official  of  China  to  the  moment  when 
[133] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

that  same  life  flickered  out  in  a  gasping,  chok 
ing  struggle  in  the  waters  of  the  sunken  pool, 
the  single  fact  of  her  amazing  beauty  stands 
out  starkly  like  the  scarlet  thread  coloring  and 
influencing  a  bit  of  dull  old  tapestry. 

Every  crisis  in  her  life  was  produced  and 
decided  by  her  beauty,  which  was  inescapable 
and  which  dowered  her  from  birth.  The  vari 
ous  people  influencing  her  destiny  were  them 
selves  influenced  by  that  beauty,  reacting  to  it, 
each  in  their  own  fashion,  with  emotions  of 
jealousy,  envy,  hate,  or  love,  according  to  his 
or  her  capacity. 

She  was,  in  the  very  beginning,  the  daughter 
of  a  powerful  Chinese  official  and  his  concu 
bine,  unwanted  in  view  of  her  sex  until  the  fact 
of  her  promised  beauty  endowed  her  with  a 
prestige  of  her  own  which  reflected  back  upon 
the  mother,  a  circumstance  of  which  the  concu 
bine  was  not  slow  to  take  advantage. 

'  *  See,  0  Lord  of  My  Heart, ' '  would  purr  the 
slave  girl  contentedly  to  the  official.  "  Regard 
what  beauty  has  my  child  which  is  also  thine. 
Like  a  lotus  bud  newly  unfolded,  or  a  willow 
tree  in  spring  .  .  .  Ahi!  Nowhere  in  all  this 
land  is  such  a  one ! ' ' 

And:  "Does  not  this  child  come  rightly  by 
her  heritage  of  beauty,  0  Most  Fair?"  would 
[134] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

argue  the  official  politely.  "Is  not  the  beauty 
of  her  mother  like  to  the  full  moon  floating  in 
midnight  skies,  or  to  a  flowering  cherry  tree?" 

"Such  compliments  for  a  lowly  one  pur 
chased  for  a  handful  of  Chinese  silver ! ' '  would 
protest  the  slave  girl  then,  leaning  back  hap 
pily  against  the  broad  shoulder  clad  in  silken 
robes  of  state,  the  fragrance  of  peach-blossom 
reaching  him  from  her  shining  black  hair,  car- 
mined  lips  drooping  into  a  childish  pout  of 
pleasure. 

And,  listening,  all  the  content  in  the  heart  of 
the  Great  Wife  of  the  official,  whose  beauty 
was  not  like  to  a  full  moon  floating  in  midnight 
skies,  curdled  into  the  acid  of  jealousy. 

"Truly  the  clucking  of  the  slave  woman  over 
the  beauty  of  this  little  female  dog  does  offend 
my  ears!"  she  said  to  herself  more  than  once. 

Wherefore,  at  her  command,  the  child  was 
stolen  at  dawn  from  the  side  of  the  sleeping 
mother,  to  be  thrown  into  the  nearby  river. 

But  that  same  beauty  which  had  so  incensed 
the  Great  Wife  softened  the  heart  of  the  coolie 
carrying  out  her  instructions.  Standing  upon 
the  muddy  banks  of  the  swirling  river,  he  gazed 
dubiously  from  the  tiny  upturned  face  in  his 
arms  to  the  eddying  depths  of  water. 

' l  The  fate  which  yawns  greedily  for  its  victim 
[135] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

will  not  be  cheated, ' '  reflected  the  coolie  to  him 
self  sapiently.  "If  this  child  be  meant  to  die 
by  drowning,  then  die  by  drowning  it  will,  re 
gardless  of  me.  Wherefore  it  is  unnecessary 
for  my  hand  to  assist  in  the  accomplishment  of 
destiny.  Thus,  by  refraining  from  the  actual 
act  of  drowning,  will  I  gain  both  in  peace  of 
mind  and  in  standing  with  the  gods  for  a  deed 
of  mercy!" 

So  thinking,  he  shrugged  aside  responsibility 
by  leaving  the  infant  in  its  wrappings  beside  the 
road  which  followed  the  river,  returning  to  the 
palace  where  the  slave  girl,  awakening  to  an 
emptiness  of  shielding  arm,  was  destroying  the 
peace  of  dawn  with  her  lamentations. 

Eventually,  under  the  influence  of  coercion 
the  mere  relation  of  which  would  be  horrifying 
to  Occidental  ears,  the  coolie  confessed  his 
crime.  But  by  this  time  Mei-Li  had  vanished 
entirely,  and,  sitting  beside  a  window  facing 
the  river,  watching  buzzards  wheeling  in  the 
air  and  thinking  of  the  horrible  fates  which  had 
possibly  overtaken  the  frail  blossom  of  her  flesh, 
the  slave  girl  drooped  and  pined  and  finally 
died. 

By  the  side  of  the  river  road,  along  which 
he  was  fleeing  the  just  wrath  of  the  Dowager 
Empress  because  of  his  unwise  political  activ- 
[136] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

ities,  Chang  Yung,  once  a  Chinese  gentleman 
learned  in  matters  of  Chinese  art,  chanced  upon 
the  bundle  of  wrappings  containing  Mei-Li.  '  *  A 
girl  child!"  he  exclaimed  in  disappointment, 
and  moved  a  few  steps  onward. 

Then,  remembering  the  promised  beauty  of 
that  tiny  face,  Chang  Yung,  gentle  of  heart  and 
lover  of  all  things  beautiful,  was  irresistibly 
drawn  back,  resuming  his  flight  with  Mei-Li 
cradled  in  his  arms. 

The  act  which  seemed  sheer  folly  proved  the 
height  of  wisdom.  Because  of  the  child  in  his 
arms  the  watching  soldiers  of  the  port  failed  to 
recognize  in  Chang  Yung  the  distinguished  po 
litical  rebel,  and  he  gained  a  ship  sailing  for 
Australia. 

In  Melbourne,  in  The  Street  of  a  Thousand 
Delights,  which  duplicates  with  its  sights  and 
smells  and  its  lack  of  sanitation  the  cluttered 
streets  of  China,  Chang  Yung,  taking  the  price 
from  the  quilted  money  jacket  which  he  wore, 
purchased  a  shop  from  a  countryman  desiring 
in  his  old  age  to  return  to  the  land  which  had 
given  him  birth. 

The  rooms  above  the  shop  he  furnished  gor 
geously  with  lacquered  furniture,  quaint  flower 
pots  bearing  insignia  of  dragon  and  chrysan 
themum,  embroidered  screens,  painted  beds 
[137] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

heaped  high  with  pillows  of  purple  and  gold 
and  crimson,  the  finest  of  dishes  and  copper 
cooking  implements,  and,  lastly,  a  shrine  with 
its  attendant  incense  pots. 

Behind  the  shop  he  laid  out  a  courtyard  which 
might  have  been  lifted  bodily  from  that  land 
he  had  so  loved  with  its  tiny  pagodaed  teahouse, 
its  trailing  vines  covering  rough  stone  walls,  its 
paths  tracing  between  gorgeous  flower  beds,  and 
its  sunken  goldfish  pool. 

And  here,  for  fifteen  years  thereafter,  Chang 
Yung  lived  in  great  peace  and  tranquillity,  re 
spected  by  all  and  happy  in  his  business  of  sell 
ing  things  of  beauty.  From  one  to  another  of 
his  rare  bits  of  porcelain  or  carving  he  would 
pass  in  ecstasy,  now  raising  a  piece  of  clear, 
spinach-green,  translucent  jade  to  admire  the 
matchless  shading  of  color,  now  holding  up  a 
bit  of  rare  embroidery  to  catch  the  light  on  its 
faded  tones,  now  examining  with  a  thrill  of 
sheer  delight  a  tiny  Ming  figurine  cunningly 
fashioned  by  fingers  long  since  turned  to  dust. 
And  sometimes,  with  a  feeling  akin  to  rever 
ence,  he  would  strike  softly  upon  a  gong  filched 
from  some  ancient  temple,  reconstructing  from 
its  mellow  chimes  the  scene  of  its  original  use : 
The  immense  figure  of  the  Goddess  of  Mercy 
perhaps,  with  its  thousand  yellow  painted  hands 
[138] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

and  row  upon  row  of  candles,  its  gray-robed 
old  priests,  its  petitioning  women  worshipers, 
and  the  wailing  beggars  without  the  temple. 

And  then,  for  a  brief  interval,  the  heart  of 
the  exile  would  be  heavy  with  hunger  for  the 
banished  land  with  its  superstitions  and  its 
cruelties,  its  streets  cluttered  with  cheap  life, 
its  rivers  crowded  with  sampans,  and  its  gar 
dens  fragrant  with  plum  and  cherry.  But 
always  across  the  drift  of  his  memories  the 
thought  of  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  would  cut  like 
a  pungent  and  arresting  perfume,  dissipating 
them  into  mist. 

Something  of  the  ecstasy  he  had  for  his  rare 
objects  of  art  blended  subtly  in  his  feeling  for 
Mei-Li.  She  was  so  perfect  to  look  upon,  little 
Mei-Li.  No  sculptor  in  pink  marble  could  have 
given  her  more  delicate  lines  or  a  more  tender 
modeling  of  dainty  limbs.  Straight  dark  hair 
piled  high  over  a  delicately  broad  forehead,  tiny 
ears,  hands,  and  feet,  dark  slanting  eyes  and  a 
crimson  flower  of  a  mouth,  the  meekness  of 
the  slave  mother  and  the  fire  of  the  haughty 
official  ...  all  these  were  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful. 

' '  Truly  in  the  land  from  which  we  came  your 

feet  would  have  been  bound  to  insure  their 

smallness!"  wTould  sigh   Chang  Yung,  gazing 

upon  the  untrammeled  Mei-Li  dancing  around 

[139] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

the  garden  in  her  satin  trousers.  "And  yet, 
watching  you  dance,  I  am  reminded  of  tall  lilies 
swaying  in  the  breeze. ' ' 

She  was  reared  in  the  cloistered  seclusion  of 
a  maiden  of  old  China,  little  Mei-Li,  in  ways  of 
modesty  and  decorum.  Not  for  her  the  freedom 
of  the  noisy  streets  with  their  inevitable  harvest 
of  unsavory  knowledge.  For,  as  Chang  Yung, 
smoking  in  company  with  his  associates  at  The 
Gathering  Pla.ce  of  the  Most  High,  often  said: 
"She  is  as  beautiful  as  the  pink  of  unfolding 
dawn  .  .  .  and  as  unspotted  with  the  taint  of 
evil." 

Just  to  look  at  Mei-Li  with  her  gowns  of  gay 
brocade,  her  ornaments  of  pearl  and  jade  and 
beaten  gold,  her  perfumes  of  sandalwood  and 
musk  and  jessamine,  her  shining  hair  smoothed 
into  elaborate  coiffure,  her  skilled  fingers  draw 
ing  from  silver  lute  or  quaint  guitar  the  mel 
odies  of  the  Far  East  was  to  see  a  vision  lifted 
from  the  courtyard  of  some  old  Chinese  castle. 
Chang  Yung,  in  his  hunger  for  the  banished 
land,  never  tired  of  seeing  her  dance  beside  the 
sunken  pool  in  her  gleaming  satins,  or  of  hear 
ing  her  sing  in  her  clear  sweet  voice  some 
saccharinely  sweet  melody  of  flowers  blooming, 
blue  skies,  and  a  pair  of  lovers. 

Sitting  placidly  in  the  shadow,  his  thin  yellow 
[140] 


face  calm  and  peaceful  under  its  black  skull  cap, 
his  body  decorously  clothed  in  dark  satin  as  be 
nts  a  man  of  substance,  white  silken  socks  pro 
truding  from  black  velvet  padded  slippers, 
Chang  Yung  would  sit  and  dream  beneath  the 
magic  of  that  limpid  voice,  refilling  his  tiny  tas- 
seled  pipe  time  and  time  again  from  the  pot  of 
rare  tobacco  beside  him.  Opium  he  did  not 
smoke,  it  being,  in  his  scholarly  estimation, 
merely  a  means  of  winning  dreams  for  those 
who  of  themselves  had  none. 

So,  all  in  all,  Mei-Li  was  an  unceasing  joy  to 
him,  amply  repaying  his  investment  in  time  and 
money.  Every  luxury  he  could  procure  was 
hers,  and  when  sometimes  she  would  protest 
against  his  extravagance,  he  would  hold  his  head 
a  little  to  one  side  like  some  kindly  old  bird,  and 
retort : 

"Sufficient  to  the  jewel  must  be  its  setting — - 
and  I  ask  you:  "Where  is  there  jewel  more 
worthy  of  its  setting?" 

But  if  in  his  careful  rearing  of  Mei-Li  Chang 
Yung  followed  the  customs  of  old  China,  in  one 
thing  he  departed  from  ancient  custom.  When 
rumor  spread  a  report  of  the  beauty  of  Mei-Li 
through  The  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights, 
bringing  suitors  in  plenty  for  her  hand,  always, 
disregarding  the  advantages  of  the  proposed 
[141] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

match,  Chang  Yung  made  the  same  reluctant 
answer  to  each : 

"When  the  fruit  leaves  the  tree,  then  is  it 
gone  forever  .  .  .  wherefore  should  it  be  al 
lowed  to  ripen  fully  upon  the  tree ! '  >  he  would 
say  in  his  gentle  way.  A  pause.  And  then: 
"Moreover,  some  things  there  are  in  my  stock 
of  wares  which  I  sell  to  any  purchaser.  But 
other  things  there  are — and  which  I  have  loved 
the  best — which  I  do  not  sell  until  the  right  pur 
chaser  comes.  For  always  is  there  the  rightful 
owner  for  every  thing  of  beauty.  And  what 
have  I  more  beautiful  than  Mei-Li  the  Beauti 
ful!" 

Because  Chang  Yung  was  highly  respected  in 
The  Street  of  a  Thousand  Delights,  patiently 
the  suitors  bided  their  time — all  except  Hugh 
Sing,  the  importer. 

He  was  both  rich  and  powerful,  the  tall,  lean, 
wrinkled  Hugh  Sing,  with  his  flat  forehead,  his 
tiny  pig  eyes  spraying  out  fanwise  into  lines, 
and  his  enormous,  sinewy,  yellow  hands.  In  the 
Sing  tong  of  which  he  was  head,  all  members 
rose  to  their  feet  when  he  entered  and  remained 
standing  until  he  was  comfortably  and  deliber 
ately  seated  upon  his  heap  of  cushions.  Quite 
naturally,  since  he  was  accustomed  to  deference 
[142] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

in  all  things,  Hugh  Sing  was  irked  by  the  edict 
of  Chang  Yung. 

" Truly,"  he  pointed  out  with  dignity  to  the 
inappreciative  Chang  Yung,  "is  it  an  honor  for 
the  head  of  the  Sing  tong  to  ask  in  marriage  a 
girl  found  abandoned  upon  a  roadside.  How 
know  I  that  the  marriage  will  meet  with  the 
favor  of  the  gods?  Yet  because  of  her  exceed 
ing  beauty — which  burns  in  my  heart  like 
flame — will  I  overlook  the  matter  of  her  an 
cestors.  Moreover" — his  desire  for  Mei-Li 
overcoming  his  natural  thrift — ' '  will  I  give  you 
a  thousand  pounds  English." 

But  Chang  Yung,  his  eyes  fixed  placidly  on 
a  strip  of  yellow  satin  covered  with  Chinese 
ideographs  setting  forth  sayings  of  the  unknown 
Chinese  philosopher  who  came  before  Confucius, 
smiled  indifferently. 

"There  are  in  my  shop  articles  not  for  sale 
at  any  price — save  to  the  rightful  owner!"  he 
retorted.  "Many  summers  have  passed  over 
your  august  head,  O  Prince  of  Merchants,  insur 
ing  wisdom  indeed.  Yet  is  wisdom  not  appre 
ciated  by  the  }roung,  requiring  the  savor  of  ma 
turity  for  full  appreciation.  Youth  calls  to 
youth,  0  Most  Wise.  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  is 
but  a  hummingbird  flying  in  the  sun  of  youth, 
[143] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

while  you,  0  Highly  Respected  One,  are  a  beetle 
courting  the  shadows  of  age.  And  it  is  the 
nature  of  a  hummingbird  to  yearn  for  a  hum 
mingbird.  Some  day  there  will  be  for  Mei-Li 
the  Beautiful  another  hummingbird,  a  male 
hummingbird,  0  Most  High  ..."  His  gentle 
old  eyes  brooded  off  into  space.  He  seemed 
oblivious  of  the  presence  of  Hugh  Sing. 

White  with  rage,  Hugh  Sing  took  himself 
away,  to  plot  and  connive  in  secret,  desire  for 
the  beauty  of  Mei-Li  gnawing  at  his  very  soul. 

Another  year  passed,  during  which  Moy  Yeng, 
nephew  of  Chang  Yung  and  generously  educated 
at  his  expense,  came  from  England  to  help  care 
for  the  shop  and  to  sit  beside  Chang  Yung,  while 
pretty  Mei-Li  danced  in  the  moonlight.  To 
gether  the  two  young  people  made  music  for  the 
gentle  old  man,  the  tall  solemn  young  Chinese 
with  his  deep  brown  eyes  and  his  carefully 
spoken  English,  and  dainty  Mei-Li  with  her 
dreaming  face  and  her  laugh  like  a  cadence  of 
tiny  silver  bells. 

Sometimes,  catching  the  eyes  of  Moy  Yeng 
fixed  upon  her,  into  the  heart  of  Mei-Li  would 
come  a  dawning  glory,  causing  her  breath  to 
flutter  with  its  very  sweetness.  And  Moy  Yeng, 
gazing  upon  the  tender  beauty  of  Mei-Li,  would 
feel  in  his  brain  a  sudden  rush  not  unlike  the 
[144] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

whirring  of  a  flock  of  teal  into  motion,  experi 
encing  a  sudden  dimness  of  vision.  But  between 
the  two  at  that  time  was  only  an  attraction,  a 
wistful  drawing  of  each  to  each  which,  given 
time  and  opportunity,  would  ripen  into  the  love 
not  yet  present. 

So,  in  the  house  of  Chang  Yung  life  was  very- 
pleasant  in  those  days,  but  in  the  dwelling-place 
of  Hugh  Sing,  with  its  bare  floors,  its  enamel 
furniture,  and  its  costly  beds  hung  with  scarlet 
curtains,  life  was  not  so  pleasant.  Madam  Ah 
Tsi,  mother  of  Hugh  Sing,  and  San  Me,  his  wife, 
no  longer  in  her  first  bloom,  clung  together  in 
mutual  amity,  burying  their  grievances  against 
each  other  as  the  craving  of  Hugh  Sing  for  the 
beauty  of  Mei-Li  quickened  his  temper  and 
hardened  his  hand. 

" Truly,"  queried  Madam  Ah  Tsi  acidly  of 
her  son,  hitting  at  his  accustomed  stinginess, 
"does  thy  purse  gape  with  coin  eager  for  the 
spending?  And  is  not  the  symbol  for  trouble 
two  women  under  one  roof?  Then*  wherefore 
add  to  trouble  by  putting  three  women  under 
one  roof!" 

"Had  I  mountains  of  silver,  I  would  give 
them  all  for  Mei-Li!"  retorted  the  infatuated 
Hugh  Sing,  growing  more  sullen  as  time  passed. 

"Truly,"  complained  San  Me  in  secret,  "I 
[145] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

know  not  whether  it  be  worse  if  he  win  this 
interloper  or  worse  if  he  fail!"  Then,  raising 
her  voice  to  the  point  of  tears  in  complaint, 
'  *  Have  I  not  been  a  good  wife  ?  Have  I  not  been 
the  mother  of  sons  to  mourn  at  his  grave — long 
distant  be  that  day!  Have  I  not  been  docile, 
obedient,  patient — in  what  have  I  failed?" 

"All  these  things  have  you  been,"  consoled 
the  mother-in-law.  "Yet  are  these  things  as 
nothing  when  love  enters  the  heart  of  a  man. 
For  what  is  past  is  past.  And  what  is  to  be 
.  .  .  will  be!" 

Whatever  his  ultimate  plans  for  Mei-Li, 
Chang  Yung  did  not  live  to  see  them  fulfilled. 
Unexpectedly  he  dropped  asleep,  sitting  in  a 
great  armchair,  caressing  an  exquisite  bit  of 
carved  jade  with  his  thin  yellow  fingers.  From 
that  sleep  he  never  wakened,  and  in  due  time, 
in  a  handsome  metallic  coffin,  he  went  back  to 
that  land  which  had  driven  him  forth,  and  which 
opened  to  receive  him  again  into  its  vast  silence,- 
affording  him  the  futile  pomp  of  fifty  mourners 
clad  in  white  and  a  procession  of  ten  shaven- 
headed  Buddhist  priests  intoning  the  virtues 
of  the  departed. 

And  on  the  very  day  that  Chang  Yung  went 
back  to  China,  Hugh  Sing,  repairing  to  the 
Gathering  Place  of  the  Most  High  to  enjoy  a 
[146] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

pipe  of  choicest  chandoo,  entered  there  into  deep 
converse  with  two  others  of  the  Sing  tong,  the 
brothers  Lu. 

"I  hear  the  esteemed  Chang  Yung  has 
ascended  the  dragon,"  said  Hugh  Sing  decor 
ously,  when  the  small  black  cube  was  sizzling 
in  the  blue  flame. 

"Indeed  so,"  assented  the  elder  brother,  a 
plump  little  man  with  beady  eyes  not  unlike  the 
currants  in  an  English  bun. 

"Before  he  most  regrettably — ah — passed  on, 
he  did  promise  to  me  in  marriage  Mei-Li  the 
Beautiful,"  purred  Hugh  Sing. 

"A  most  auspicious  marriage  I"  pronounced 
the  other  agreeably. 

* '  Yet  the  nephew,  Moy  Yeng,  not  knowing  of 
this  promise,  may  demur, ' '  pursued  Hugh  Sing. 
"Wherefore  were  you  and  your  highly  esteemed 
brother  witness  to  the  promise  of  Chang  Yung, 
it  would  be  most  fortunate  .  .  .  and  worth  much 
money  to  me. '  * 

The  eyes  of  his  two  listeners  met,  narrowing 
swiftly. 

"The  possession  of  a  good  memory  outweighs 
the  value  of  precious  jewels!"  proclaimed  the 
younger  brother.  "As  clearly  as  a  pond  mir 
rors  the  bending  sky  do  we  remember  the  occa 
sion  of  which  you  speak." 
[147] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Whereupon  the  three  fared  forth  to  the  shop 
of  Moy  Yeng,  finding  him  in  ecstatic  contempla 
tion  of  a  consignment  of  rare  tapestries. 

1  i  Chang  Yung,  who  is  no  more,  and  regretta 
bly  cannot  testify,  has  promised  to  me  Mei-Li 
the  Beautiful,"  informed  Hugh  Sing  smoothly, 
after  the  customary  flowery  Chinese  courtesies 
had  been  duly  observed,  and  the  four  were  com 
fortably  seated  on  cushions  in  the  room  behind 
the  shop. 

"Indeed!"  retorted  Moy  Yeng  thoughtfully. 
"Yet  he  made  no  mention  of  his  wish  to  me." 

"Who  can  foretell  to-day  what  to-morrow 
will  bring  forth?"  shrugged  Hugh  Sing. 
"Would  Chang  Yung  know  that  the  days  of  his 
life  were  numbered!  Moreover" — indicating 
the  brothers  Lu — "are  these  two  witnesses  of 
his  agreement  with  me." 

"We  are  witness!"  proclaimed  the  brothers 
sonorously. 

A  silence.  Hugh  Sing  took  up  the  argument 
again.  "You  stand  in  place  of  a  son  to  Chang 
Yung,  who  regrettably  had  no  son  of  his  blood 
to  mourn  for  him,"  he  said  softly.  "And  the 
first  wish  of  a  dutiful  son  is  to  honor  the  com 
mand  of  the  dead,  thus  insuring  peace  to  the 
departed  spirit." 

[148] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"It  is  true,"  agreed  Moy  Yeng,  frowning. 
"And  yet  .  .  ." 

Something  of  the  gossip  he  had  heard  regard 
ing  the  shrewish  mother  of  Hugh  Sing  filtered 
into  his  disturbed  mind.  Involuntarily  he 
thought  of  the  tender  beauty  of  Mei-Li  at  the 
mercy  of  unkind  hands. 

"It  is  the  duty  of  a  Chinese  son  to  honor  the 
wish  of  the  dead,"  repeated  Hugh  Sing  inex 
orably. 

And  at  that,  offsetting  all  the  years  of  his 
education  in  a  foreign  land,  the  weight  of  ac 
cumulated  centuries  of  deference  to  the  wishes 
of  dead  ancestors  brought  pressure  upon  Moy 
Yeng,  overruling  his  personal  reluctance. 

"If  the  marriage  pleased  my  uncle,  it  pleases 
me,"  said  Moy  Yeng  politely,  but  with  some 
thing  of  regret  pulsing  beneath  his  courteous 
words. 

Palm  met  palm,  sealing  the  agreement. 

After  Hugh  Sing  had  departed  with  his  silent 
witnesses,  Moy  Yeng  sat  on  in  the  deserted 
room,  thinking  over  the  coming  marriage. 
Presently  he  went  reluctantly  out  to  where  Mei- 
Li,  sitting  upon  the  stone  coping  of  the  sunken 
pool,  was  throwing  bread  crumbs  to  the  goldfish. 

"Soon  must  you  exchange  the  snowy  gar- 
[149] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

merits  of  mourning  for  the  crimson  ones  of  re 
joicing!"  he  said  haltingly  to  her. 

The  bread  in  her  slender  fingers  dropped  un 
heeded  to  the  ground.  Into  the  eyes  of  Mei-Li 
came  a  softness.  One  hand  went  up  to  her  slim 
throat. 

"Soon  you  go  with  your  belongings  to  the 
house  of  Hugh  Sing,  who  is,  when  all  is  said,  a 
man  of  wealth  and  power,"  continued  Moy 
Yeng. 

And  then,  without  looking  at  her,  he  knew 
that  all  the  brightness  had  vanished  from  her 
face. 

"I  .  .  .  must  leave  you?"  whispered  Mei-Li 
the  Beautiful,  regarding  him  with  the  eyes  of 
a  child  given  a  blow  where  a  caress  was  ex 
pected. 

"Chang  Yung,  who  was  my  uncle,  arranged 
the  marriage.  And  in  all  things  must  his  wish 
be  obeyed, ' '  explained  Moy  Yeng,  wondering  at 
his  own  feeling  of  guilt. 

"I  did  not  think  that  Chang  Yung,  after  many 
years  of  kindness,  would  prove  unkind  at  last !" 
said  Mei-Li  gently. 

*  *  Yet  must  his  wish  be  honored, ' '  insisted  Moy 

Yeng,  gazing  upon  the  beauty  of  Mei-Li  with  a 

troubled  hunger.    "We  are  not  as  the  foreign 

devils,  living  for  ourselves  alone.    Always  do 

[150] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

we  honor  the  wish  of  the  dead  before  the  wish 
of  the  living." 

And  then,  looking  at  the  clean  young  strength 
of  Moy  Yeng  with  a  sort  of  wistfulness  which 
held  a  prevision  of  the  vanished  youth  and 
shrunken  ugliness  of  Hugh  Sing,  Mei-Li  flamed 
surprisingly  to  words  of  protest. 

"Was  I  saved  from  the  river  for  this?"  she 
demanded  passionately  of  the  startled  Moy 
Yeng.  "Must  the  life  of  a  Chinese  woman  be 
doomed  to  the  hazard  of  unhappiness  from 
birth?  And  is  love,  which  is  the  song  of  all 
the  world,  to  be  left  always  to  chance  when  life 
without  love  has  a  grayness  like  unto  a  weeping 
day?  How  know  I  if  Hugh  Sing  be  young  or 
old,  handsome  as  the  dawn,  or  ugly  beyond 
compare?" 

Remembering  Hugh  Sing,  Moy  Yeng  was 
moved  to  pity.  *  *  The  wish  of  Chang  Yung  must 
be  obeyed,"  he  repeated  gently. 

As  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  revolt  died  out 
of  Mei-Li,  the  deeply  ingrained  habit  of  obedi 
ence  reasserting  itself.  "What  is  left  for  me 
but  to  obey?"  she  murmured.  "Truly  is  life  a 
flower  with  many  thorns ! '  ' 

With  hanging  head  she  moved  away,  and  Moy 
Yeng,  watching  the  drooping  figure  recede,  felt 
as  if  in  some  way  he  had  betrayed  a  trust. 
[151] 


,THE  STREET  OF  A 

"Truly  is  the  path  of  duty  set  with  sharp 
stones  for  the  feet  of  the  unwary!"  he  sighed 
to  himself.  "Yet  always,  beyond  all  else,  must 
the  wish  of  the  dead  be  honored/' 

So,  in  a  rented  hack  decked  with  crimson, 
Mei-Li  went  to  Hugh  Sing,  and  with  her  first 
glance  at  his  wrinkled  face  the  sense  of  being 
cheated  strengthened  until  it  overshadowed  all 
else. 

Hugh  Sing  was  kind.  Moreover,  he  was  gen 
erous  under  the  influence  of  the  alien  emotion 
which  flamed  in  his  middle-aged  breast.  Gifts 
without  number  he  showered  upon  his  bride, 
delighting  in  the  beauty  which  so  enthralled  him. 
And  seeing,  San  Me  his  wife,  and  Madam  Ah  Tsi 
his  mother,  waxed  sullen  and  resentful. 

Always  Mei-Li  was  conscious  of  their  un 
changing  enmity.  Their  fulsome  compliments 
were  spiced  with  insincerity,  their  frequent 
criticisms  with  the  malice  of  envy. 

"He  has  given  to  this  water-fowl  dresses  of 
silk  and  satin  and  rare  jewels,  yet  to  me,  the 
mother  of  his  sons,  has  he  given  nothing  at  all ! " 
sobbed  San  Me  angrily  to  Madam  Ah  Tsi. 

Madam  Ah  Tsi  spread  her  hands  in  a  gesture 

of  resignation.     "When  love  comes  in  at  the 

door,    wisdom    goes    out    at    the    window!" 

Placidly  she  filled  a  cup  with  tea  sun-dried  with 

[152] 


{THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

yellow  flowers  of  jessamine.  "And  certainly 
Hugh  Sing  loves  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful!" 

"Her  beauty  blooms  in  his  heart  like  some 
exquisite  flower,  making  him  young  again!" 
wailed  San  Me  in  a  tone  of  anguish.  *  *  And  me — 
I  am  old. ' ' 

The  slanting  eyes  of  Madam  Ah  Tsi  narrowed. 
"Likewise  am  I  old,"  she  acknowledged.  "But 
in  my  life  have  I  seen  many  strange  things. 
Even  have  I  seen  love  used  as  a  weapon  to  de 
stroy  the  thing  beloved !  Moreover,  though  he 
bar  with  gold  his  silver  door,  a  man  cannot  keep 
the  wife  who  loves  him  not. ' ' 

"You  are  most  wise,  0  Honorable  Mother," 
returned  San  Me  respectfully,  her  nimble  fingers 
busy  with  a  strip  of  fine  embroidery.  "Yet 
could  thy  wisdom  rid  this  house  of  the  hated 
Mei-Li,  then  would  I  hail  thy  wisdom  as  greatest 
in  all  the  world." 

In  her  turn  Madam  Ah  Tsi  regarded  the  pale, 
red-eyed  San  Me  with  something  of  sympathy. 
"You  have  been  a  dutiful  daughter  to  me;"  she 
said,  not  unkindly.  "And  it  is  not  right  that  a 
mother  of  sons  be  pushed  aside  for  a  newcomer 
with  beauty,  since,  after  all,  more  precious  in  a 
woman  is  a  virtuous  heart  than  a  face  of 
beauty  ..."  She  filled  and  drank  another  cup 
of  scalding  tea  deliberately.  * '  To  him  who  waits 
[153] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

comes  ever  his  opportunity  .  .  .  even  for  re 
venge.  Wait,  then,  0  Mother  of  Sons,  for  the 
opportunity  which  will  be  ours." 

*  *  Seven  causes  are  there  for  the  putting  away 
of  a  wife ! ' '  suggested  San  Me  hopefully. 

Madam  Ah  Tsi  sniffed  scornfully.  "And 
were  there  seventy  times  seven,  Hugh  Sing  in 
his  folly  would  hold  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful ! ' '  She 
reflected,  passing  one  hand  in  deep  thought  over 
the  scalp  blackened  carefully  to  conceal  her 
baldness. 

"If  the  door  of  a  cage  be  left  open,  will  not 
the  caged  bird  fly?"  she  brought  out  at  last. 
And  she  smiled — a  smile  which  left  the  watching 
San  Me  slightly  chilled  by  its  underlying 
malevolence. 

There  followed  for  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  lonely 
days  in  the  house  of  Hugh  Sing,  when  her  ro 
mantic  fancy,  fleeing  the  actuality  of  Hugh  Sing 
with  his  wearying  compliments  and  his  gloating 
delight  in  her  beauty,  returned  to  other  days 
and  the  society  of  Moy  Yeng  of  the  luxuriantly 
lashed  brown  eyes  and  gentle  voice.  Sitting 
listlessly,  day  after  day,  behind  closely  shuttered 
windows,  gazing  out  through  a  shimmering  haze 
of  golden  light  which  revealed  indiscriminately 
the  clutter  and  disorder  of  The  Street  of  a 
Thousand  Delights  and  touched  the  cobalt  blue 
[154] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

of  the  distant  ocean  with  splashes  of  silver  and 
rose  and  emerald,  occasionally  she  recognized 
the  tall,  lithe  figure  of  Moy  Yeng,  following  it 
through  the  crowds  with  something  of  wistful 
pain. 

No  longer  was  there  any  joy  in  the  elaborate 
toilet  she  made  each  morning,  arranging  her 
shining  hair  in  satin  smoothness,  rubbing  per 
fumed  honey  upon  her  white  skin  and  powder 
ing  it  into  creamy  whiteness  with  rice  powder 
before  painting  delicate  circles  of  unfading  pink 
upon  the  smooth  whiteness.  Even  in  the  con 
templation  of  her  own  beauty  there  was  no 
longer  any  happiness  for  Mei-Li. 

And,  in  his  turn,  Moy  Yeng  never  failed  to 
gaze  up  at  the  shuttered  windows  as  he  passed 
the  dwelling  of  Hugh  Sing,  remembering  Mei-Li 
dancing  in  her  young  beauty  beside  the  sunken 
pool,  and  the  extinguished  gladness  of  her  face 
when  he  had  told  her  of  the  coming  marriage. 

A  time  came  when  Moy  Yeng  found  his  gar 
den  haunted  with  memories,  and  when  the 
poignant  thoughts  of  Mei-Li  turned  ever  more 
often  to  the  round  ball  of  sleep  which  has  af 
forded  escape  to  many  a  Chinese  bride» 

And  Madam  Ah  Tsi,  watching  the  changing 
emotions  upon  the  face  of  Mei-Li,  judged  the 
time  ripe  for  interference. 
[155] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"Always  does  my  tender  heart  sorrow  for  a 
caged  bird  mourning  its  freedom!"  she  said 
softly  to  Mei-Li  one  day  when  Hugh  Sing  was 
away  on  a  business  trip,  stealthily  regarding 
the  tears  coursing  down  from  under  the  girl's 
full  white  eyelids. 

Mei-Li  failed  to  reply,  and  craftily  she  pro 
ceeded.  "Moreover,  where  a  bird  flies  willingly 
into  a  cage,  who  shall  be  blamed  for  shutting 
the  door?  Yet  where  the  bird  is  caged  by  a 
trick,  then  is  advantage  taken  unfairly." 

"There  is  a  meaning  in  thy  words,  0  Honor 
able  Mother,  which  escapes  the  slowness  of  my 
wits,"  returned  Mei-Li  heavily. 

And  then,  watching  carefully,  seeing  the  sud 
den  rush  of  angry  color  in  the  young  face  oppo 
site,  Madam  Ah  Tsi  related  the  tale  of  Hugh 
Sing's  trickery  with  the  witnesses. 

' '  Never  did  the  highly  respected  Chang  Yung 
mean  for  you  to  marry  Hugh  Sing,"  she 
finished.  "Many  times  did  he  refuse  him,  say 
ing  :  '  Always  for  every  thing  of  beauty  is  there 
the  rightful  owner.'  "  She  paused.  "Hugh 
Sing  would  be  most  angry  if  he  knew  I  told 
you  of  this,"  she  finished.  "Yet  is  right  right 
and  wrong  wrong,  and  the  tongue  of  a  liar  forms 
a  noose  by  which  many  a  wise  man  has  been 
hung." 

[156] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Softly  she  withdrew,  seeking  the  society  of 
San  Me.  "Seed  have  I  sown  which  will  bear 
fruit ! ' '  she  told  the  eager  San  Me.  ' '  There  re 
mains  but  to  wait. ' ' 

In  which  she  was  entirely  right.  To  the 
heavy  heart  of  Mei-Li  her  words  brought  a 
storm  of  emotion,  deepening  the  feeling  of  hav 
ing  been  cheated  and  betrayed  into  actual  hate 
of  the  wrinkled  Hugh  Sing.  Close  upon  thi 
came  a  glory  of  hope:  Chang  Yung  had  not 
meant  her  to  marry  Hugh  Sing !  Perhaps  there 
would  yet  be  escape  from  this  dreary  prison, 
escape  from  the  gloating  fondness  of  Hugh 
Sing  .  .  .  Perhaps  in  that  garden  she  had  so 
loved  Moy  Yeng  still  remembered  .  .  . 

Later,  on  that  same  evening,  Madam  Ai  Tsi 
and  San  Me  awaited  Hugh  Sing,  dressed  in  their 
best,  and  with  triumph  in  their  bearing. 

He  came  on  eager  feet. 

4 'Where  is  my  Lotus  Bud?"  he  demanded 
with  his  first  breath.  "Many  and  rare  gifts 
have  I  brought  to  her :  Necklaces  for  her  neck 
whiter  than  the  pearls  of  which  they  are  made, 
silks  for  the  beauty  of  her  tender  flesh,  orna 
ments  for  her  hair  which  shames  the  blackness 
of  the  night  ..." 

Madam    Ah    Tsi    smiled    at    him    placidly. 
1  ( More  precious  in  a  woman  is  a  virtuous  heart 
[157] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

than  a  face  of  beauty!"  she  replied  pointedly. 
"Mei-Li  the  Beautiful,  after  days  of  grieving, 
has  returned  to  Moy  Yeng  who  was  her  lover 
before  she  was  thy  wife." 

"Ah!"  whispered  Hugh  Sing,  the  little  veins 
in  his  temples  swelling  into  prominence,  his 
small  pig  eyes  glazing  over.  Again  he  heard 
the  slightly  mocking  voice  of  Chang  Tung: 
'  *  Some  day  for  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  there  will 
be  another  hummingbird  ...  a  male  humming 
bird  .  .  ." 

"Wherefore  because  of  this  thing  does  the 
shining  honor  of  Hugh  Sing  bear  a  stain," 
finished  Madam  Ah  Tsi.  The  eyes  of  the  two 
women  met.  San  Me  shivered  with  fright. 

A  silence  followed  during  which  breath  came 
unevenly  through  the  sagging  lips  of  Hugh  Sing. 

"Honor  which  bears  a  stain  must  be 
cleansed,"  he  affirmed  at  last.  "Men  die, 
women  die,  love  dies  ..."  his  voice  trembled. 
"Yet  is  honor  a  deathless  thing,  handed  down 
from  father  to  son  ..." 

Deliberately  he  moved  toward  the  door  with 
a  new  and  terrible  decision,  contracting  his 
enormous  yellow  hands. 

"Is  it  not  a  wise  mother  who  knows  her  own 
son?"  inquired  Madam  Ah  Tsi  composedly  of 
the  shrinking  San  Me.  "Said  I  not  that  love 
[158] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

becomes  a  weapon  to  destroy  the  thing  be 
loved?" 

' '  He  will  kill  her ! ' '  whimpered  the  frightened 
San  Me,  regarding  the  carefully  painted  face  of 
Madam  Ah  Tsi  as  if  it  held  a  baleful  fascina 
tion. 

"He  will  kill  her,"  affirmed  Madam  Ah  Tsi 
indifferently,  filling  her  tiny  scarlet  tasseled 
pipe  with  a  single  pinch  of  tobacco.  "With  his 
great  yellow  hands  he  will  wring  the  life  from 
her  reluctant  body  as  easily  as  I  twist  a  flower 
between  my  fingers. ' ' 

Then,  emptying  the  tiny  pipe,  and  regarding 
the  trembling  agitation  of  San  Me  with  kindly 
contempt,  "Every  age  has  its  compensation, 
O  Sheep-Hearted  One,"  said  Madam  Ah  Tsi 
sapiently.  * '  To  Mei-Li  was  given  much  beauty, 
yet  to  me  is  given  much  wisdom.  And  wisdom 
is  ever  a  match  for  beauty." 

In  that  garden  Chang  Yung  had  built,  Mei-Li 
and  Moy  Yeng  were  together,  Mei-Li  coming  in 
upon  him,  the  living  embodiment  of  the  dream 
which  haunted  his  evenings:  The  same  wide 
dark  eyes,  the  haunting  smile,  half  sweet,  half 
sad,  the  same  poignant  delicacy  of  throat  and 
face  which  caught  his  heart  and  melted  it  into 
tenderness. 

[159] 


"Mei-Li!"  lie  cried  aloud  in  wonder. 

"I  have  come  back!"  she  said,  with  a  sob  of 
sheer  happiness.  And  then,  holding  out  both 
hands  to  him:  "Why  have  you  given  me  to 
Hugh  Sing?"  she  demanded  reproachfully. 

"Because  my  uncle  Chang  Yung  so  willed," 
returned  the  puzzled  Moy  Yeng. 

"And  if  Chang  Yung  had  not  so  willed1?"  in 
quired  Mei-Li  with  dainty  coquetry. 

"  Ahi ! ' '  sighed  Moy  Yeng  regretfully. 

Mei-Li  came  closer,  walking  straight  into  the 
arms  which  involuntarily  closed  around  her, 
and  to  him  came  the  perfume  of  sandalwood 
from  her  clinging  satins,  the  scent  of  peach- 
blossom  from  her  shining  hair,  all  the  myste 
rious  allure  which  was  hers. 

"Do  you  love  me?"  asked  Mei-Li,  looking 
deep  into  his  eyes. 

Moy  Yeng  endeavored  to  regain  his  firmness 
of  purpose. 

"A  Chinese  wife  does  not  seek  refuge  from 
her  husband,"  he  pointed  out.  "Did  the 
loungers  on  the  street  know  you  were  here  your 
name  would  be  a  jest  upon  the  lips  of  the  un 
clean  in  thought." 

"Do  you  love  me?"  insisted  Mei-Li  tremu 
lously.  '  '  Am  I  not  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  ? ' ' 

And  then,  stammering,  Moy  Yeng  made  it 
[160] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

very  clear  that  to  her  beauty  his  very  soul  paid 
homage,  that  his  heart  beat  in  time  with  the 
sweetness  which  was  hers,  and  that  to  him  the 
world  without  Mei-Li  was  but  a  place  of  arid 
waste. 

"Ahi!"  sighed  Mei-Li  gratefully,  letting  her 
head  droop  to  his  shoulder.  "These  words 
have  my  ears  long  hungered  to  hear!" 

Still  leaning  against  him,  she  poured  out  the 
tale  of  Hugh  Sing  and  his  duplicity,  feeling 
the  shoulder  beneath  her  head  stiffen  into 
rigidity. 

"It  is  not  permitted  any  man  of  honor  to 
steal  the  wife  of  his  friend,"  said  Moy  Yeng 
when  she  had  finished,  sucking  in  his  breath 
sharply.  "Yet  is  it  permitted  any  man  to  re 
gain  what  has  been  stolen  unlawfully  from 
him!" 

Then,  hojding  to  him  closely  all  the  beauty 
which  was  Mei-Li,  he  reflected  aloud  anxiously. 

"Long  is  the  arm  of  the  Sing  tong,  wherefore 
we  must  fly  beyond  reach  of  that  arm.  There 
is,  far  away,  another  land,  my  Plumblossom,  a 
land  to  which  entrance  is  sometimes  denied. 
Yet  by  those  with  money  are  there  arrange 
ments  which  can  be  made — " 

"And  in  this  land  we  shall  be,  each  to  the 
other,  enough!"  murmured  Mei-Li  happily. 
[161] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"And  we  shall  be,  each  to  the  other,  all  in 
all!"  assured  Moy  Yeng  gravely.  "And  what 
against  this  is  a  matter  of  rare  tapestries,  or 
jade,  or  houses,  or  gardens  .  .  .  wherefore  I 
will  go  at  once,  0  Rose  of  Happiness  Which 
Blooms  for  Me,  to  arrange  our  passage.  By 
the  kindness  of  the  Lord  Buddha,  there  is  a 
boat  sailing  this  night  .  .  ." 

"Hugh  Sing  returns  to-night,"  shivered 
Mei-Li.  And  caught  him  suddenly  with  fran 
tically  clinging  arms.  ' '  Do  not  leave  me ! ' '  she 
implored. 

"I  go  but  to  return,"  reassured  Moy  Yeng. 
"See,  Little  Frightened  Dove,  I  go  to  arrange 
passage  to  the  new  land  where  we  shall  be 
happy  ..." 

But  Mei-Li  sobbed  pitifully.  "The  shadow 
of  something  terrible  has  crossed  my  heart, 
clouding  the  sun  of  my  happiness ! ' '  she  told  him 
between  sobs. 

Gently  Moy  Yeng  endeavored  to  soothe  her 
fears.  "Here  where  we  met  you  will  wait  for 
me,  My  Lotus  Bud,"  he  said  tenderly.  "And 
memory  of  thy  beauty  will  speed  my  returning 
footsteps.  See,  Most  Beautiful,  let  me  go ! " 

Reluctantly  the  clinging  hands  relaxed. 
' '  There  is  no  place  you  go  so  distant  I  shall  not 
follow!"  said  Mei-Li  strangely.  "Nor  is  there 
[162] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

any  wait  so  long  we  shall  not  be  together 
again ! ' '  Looking  deep  into  his  eyes,  she  smiled. 
1  'For  where  two  are  in  their  hearts  as  one,  then 
is  no  separation  possible !"  finished  little  Mei-Li 
softly. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  dropped  on  her  knees 
beside  the  stone  coping  of  the  sunken  pool, 
watching  the  goldfish  swim  lazily  back  and 
forth,  of  a  sudden  holding  up  both  slim  arms 
to  the  fullblown  moon  riding  in  a  tranquil  sky. 

" Little  Sister  Moon  ...  I  am  so  happy!" 
sang  Mei-Li  the  Beautiful  liltingly.  "Never 
was  any  one  quite  so  happy!" 

But  in  the  very  moment  of  saying  it  a  chill 
wind  blew  across  her  heart,  every  shadow  and 
rustling  leaf  exhaling  a  subtle  menace. 

Then,  gazing  down  into  the  clear  water  of  the 
sunken  pool  with  terrified  eyes,  she  saw  reflected 
there  the  figure  of  Hugh  Sing  behind  her,  im 
mense  and  terrible  . 


[163] 


CHINA   HOSE 


TWO  things  had  Tsing  Chung,  Chinese 
tailor  in  the  city  of  Melbourne,  which  he 
loved  with  a  mighty  love  as  he  sat  cross- 
legged  day  after  day  upon  his  table,  the  round 
face  under  his  black  satin  skull  cap  placid, 
kindly,  and  contented :  the  long  line  of  honorable 
ancestors  passed  on  to  other  worlds,  and  Rose, 
his  yellow  haired,  slanting  eyed,  discontented 
wife,  idling  in  the  lacquered  splendor  of  the 
room  he  had  prepared  for  her. 

In  both  of  these  loves  Tsing  Chung  was  per 
haps  unwise.  The  ancestors — summed  up  in  a 
splendid  bronze  tablet  to  which  Tsing  Chung 
dutifully  rendered  daily  prayers — had  left  him 
nothing  but  a  series  of  obligations  in  the  way 
of  perennial  respect  and  consideration.  And 
concerning  Rose,  China  Rose  as  she  was  bet 
ter  known,  gossip  was  rife  even  in  the  Chinese 
quarter,  where  the  names  of  respectable  women 
are  seldom  touched  upon  in  polite  conversation. 

The  reasons  for  this  were  many,  as  many,  in 
fact,  as  the  flagrant  offenses  committed  by 
China  Rose  in  her  gay  defiance  against  Chinese 
[167] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

etiquette.  For  one  thing  she  walked  abroad  on 
feet  which  had  never  known  the  torture  of  bind 
ing,  her  face  in  all  its  bright  young  beauty  bare 
to  the  careless  gaze  of  any  passerby,  rejecting 
the  modest  trousers  of  the  Chinese  woman  in 
favor  of  the  outlandish,  figure-revealing  garb 
of  the  foreign  devils.  Frequently  she  was  seen 
in  the  pubs  of  Melbourne  deep  in  conversation 
with  despised  females  of  the  alien  race.  And 
in  a  thousand  other  ways  China  Rose,  in  whose 
reckless  veins  surged  the  blood  of  unknown 
races,  violated  the  fixed  customs  of  China. 

Sedate  old  Chinamen  in  wide  sleeves  averted 
their  eyes  when  she  passed  with  her  light  quick 
step,  splendid  shoulders  squared  proudly  be 
neath  her  plaid  jacket.  Children,  readily  ab 
sorbing  the  prevalent  gossip  and  reflecting  the 
attitude  of  their  elders,  shook  soiled  tunics 
disdainfully  at  sight  of  her.  And  at  least  once 
a  malicious  yellow  countryman  spat  venomously 
upon  the  pavement  skimmed  in  her  rapid  pas 
sage. 

But  China  Eose,  hearing,  only  laughed  her 
gay,  defiant  laugh. 

"They  hate  me  'cause  I'm  diff'runt,"  she  ex 
plained  to  the  worried  Tsing  Chung.  "All 
these  fat  ole  yella  men  wanta  shut  me  up  so's 
their  fat  little  ole  yella  wives  won't  begin 
[168] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

hollerin'  tub  get  out  on  the  streets  an'  see  the 
sights.  An'  all  those  pasty  yella  women  starin' 
down  at  me  from  behind  the  lattices — they  hate 
me  'cause  I'm  free  an'  they  ain't!  Y'see,  Ole 
Socks" — she  slapped  Tsing  Chung  gayly 
upon  shoulders  rounded  from  perpetual  bend 
ing  over  a  length  of  cloth — "if  you're  diff'runt, 
yuh  can  just  make  up  yer  little  ole  mind  tub  be 
hated — 'cause  sure  as  shootin'  yuh  will  be." 

"But  I  love  you  because  you  are  different," 
expostulated  Tsing  Chung,  grave  eyes  upon  the 
willful  face  and  pouting  mouth  he  so  wor 
shiped. 

China  Eose  shrugged.  "That's  another 
story,  Ole  Socks." 

Then,  her  spirits  flaring  to  wild  exhilaration, 
she  started  a  noisy  record  on  the  talking  ma 
chine  with  which  Tsing  Chung  had  recently  de 
lighted  her.  "Come  on,  Ching-a-Ling, "  she 
urged.  "Let's  try  a  bit  of  jazz." 

Grasping  the  plump  Tsing  Chung  with  her 
strong  hands,  she  pulled  him  around  the  room 
in  a  patient  stumbling  effort  to  follow  her  nim 
ble  feet.  He  loved  these  flaming  moments,  did 
Tsing  Chung,  when  her  wild  humor  lifted  him 
high  above  the  prosaic  dullness  which  was  his 
life,  in  spite  of  his  life,  in  spite  of  his  secret  feel 
ing  that  they  detracted  from  his  dignity.  Per- 
[169] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

haps  the  very  ability  of  China  Rose  to  mount 
above  the  sordid  grayness  inclosing  him  was 
why  he  loved  her  so. 

Of  a  sudden,  breathless,  her  mood  changing, 
China  Rose  let  him  go,  herself  collapsing  onto 
the  couch  heaped  high  with  pillows  which  stood 
against  the  wall,  sobbing  wildly  in  one  of  the 
sudden  abandonments  of  grief  which  occasion 
ally  visited  her. 

Tsing  Chung,  standing  above  her  in  troubled 
concern,  touched  the  heaving  shoulders  with 
solicitous  fingers.  "You  are  sad?"  he  inquired 
wistfully. 

And  China  Rose  sobbed  out  her  reason. 
"There's  goin'  to  be  a  baby — another  little 
crossbreed  like  me,  Ole  Socks." 

Then,  rebelliously,  looking  upward  at  the  look 
of  beatific  content  spreading  over  Tsing 
Chung's  full  moon  face,  "Oh,  I  reckon  ye 're 
glad  enough,  Ole  Socks.  But  me  now,  I'm 
knowin'  wot  it  means  tuh  be  part  white  an'  part 
yella,  with  yer  heart  pullin'  one  way  an'  yer 
yella  skin  draggin'  yuh  another.  It's  plain  hell, 
Ole  Socks,  that 's  wot  it  is ! " 

"But  you — ah — are  yellow,"  said  the  puzzled 
Tsing  Chung. 

"I  ain't!"  screamed  China  Rose  in  a  fury. 
"  I  'm  white — white — white ! ' ' 
[170] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

11  Certainly,"  agreed  Tsing  Chung  soothingly. 
"If  you  wish  to  be  white,  then  you  are  white, 
Eose  of  My  Heart." 

But  with  his  hasty  concurrence  all  the  resent 
ment  dropped  away  from  China  Rose,  leaving 
her  listless  against  the  gorgeous  pillows  in  her 
pathetic  willful  youth  and  beauty. 

"I  ain't  reelly  white,  Ching-a-Ling, "  she  ac 
knowledged  dispiritedly.  ' '  Maybe  I  look  white, 
but  I  ain't.  Not  reelly.  An'  just  that's  been 
eatin'  on  me  all  my  life.  It's  plain  hell,  Ole 
Socks.  Buh-lieve  me  .  .  .  I  know." 

And  she  did  know,  the  knowledge  dating  back 
to  a  time  when,  even  younger,  she  walked  the 
streets  of  another  country,  from  the  clutter  and 
disorder  of  Pell  Street  to  where  the  twisted 
steel  structure  of  the  Elevated  crosses  the 
Bowery,  tight  coat  buttoned  tautly  over  the  slim 
figure  of  fifteen,  yellow  hair  arranged  in  so 
phisticated  coiffure  beneath  her  enormous 
hat,  tottering  along  on  two  inch  heels  in  a  cari 
cature  of  the  popular  walk.  Even  in  those 
days  of  thin  immaturity  she  had  a  strange, 
exotic  beauty,  which  she  was  rather  more 
than  well  able  to  protect  from  unwelcome  ad 
vances. 

Mr.  Dennis  0 'Flaherty,  upon  whose  doorstep 
[171] 


chance — though  unkind  people  hinted  paternity 
— had  cast  her  in  a  dingy  blanket  at  the  tender 
age  of  two  weeks,  applauded  her  ability  to  fend 
for  herself. 

"She's  tough !"  he  would  confide  to  the 
cronies  haunting  his  poolroom.  "Gawd,  but 
she's  tough — that  China  Rose!  She  can  out- 
swear  me  an'  I'm  no  amachoor.  An'  buh-lieve 
you  me,  she  packs  a  wicked  wallop  in  that  right 
arm.  Ain't  nobuddy  goin'  ta  get  fresh  with  her 
if  she  don't  want  it." 

If  anybody  had  whispered  to  Mr.  0  'Flaherty 
of  protecting  youthful  innocence,  he  would  have 
stared  in  amaze. 

"Ain't  she  yella?"  he  would  have  inquired 
injuredly.  "If  she  wuz  white  now — but  she 
ain't.  Look  at  them  slantin' eyes!" 

And  in  his  mind  it  was  all  clear  enough :  One 
set  of  rules  and  regulations  for  the  female  of 
the  white  species,  another  for  the  yellow. 

"China"  Rose  they  called  her  because  of  her 
queer  slanting  blue  eyes  and  the  tearose  tint  of 
her  skin.  And  as  China  Rose  the  report  of  her 
beauty  spread  through  Pell  Street  and  the 
Bowery. 

"Honest,"  said  young  Bud  O'Connor  to  his 
side  kick,  Spike  McGovern,  in  warm  apprecia 
tion,  "there's  a  yella  dame  walkin'  'round 
[172] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

here  wit'  a  face  at'd  knock  yuh  cold.    Reg'lar 
chicken  an'  spunky  as  hell." 

McGovern  listened  thoughtfully.  Later  he 
more  than  listened.  He  went  on  a  tour  of  in 
spection. 

There  is  no  denying  that  with  his  glaring 
pink  shirt,  his  absurdly  small  waist  above  peg 
top  trousers,  and  his  light  topped  shoes,  Spike 
McGovern  was  not  bad  to  look  upon.  He  had, 
moreover,  a  deceptive  cherubic  innocence  about 
his  smile. 

" Hello,  Kid!"  he  said  admiringly  to  China 
Rose  at  first  sight  of  her.  "I'm  wantin'  tuh 
cop  a  lil'  peach  just  like  you." 

The  slanting  blue  eyes  of  China  Eose  went 
from  the  feet  clad  in  effeminate  patent  leather 
to  the  incongruous  strength  of  the  face  shaded 
by  a  plaid  cap.  "Beat  it!"  she  ordered,  deal 
ing  him  a  playful  slap  meant  as  encouragement. 

"Game!"  praised  Spike  McGovern  de 
lightedly. 

Then,  some  months  later,  her  heart  in  her 
mouth,  her  intense  blue  eyes  beseechingly  upon 
his  unconcerned  face,  a  softness  about  her  be 
fore  which  Mr.  0 'Flaherty  would  have  stared 
in  amaze,  China  Rose  made  of  Spike  McGovern 
an  urgent  request  as  they  stood  together  in  the 
soft  spring  dusk  of  a  city  park  square. 
[173] 


"I — I'm  soured  on  this  place  'round  here, 
Spike,"  she  stammered.    "The  noise,  the  dirt, 


the  fights,  all  the  rottenness  of  it." 

"Suits  me,"  nonchalantly  from  Spike. 
"Wot's  eatin'  on  yuh?  Some  Holy  John  been 
naggin'  yuh  about  yer  everlastin'  soul?" 

"I — I'm  wantin'  tuh  cut  all  this  an'  get  away 
somewheres,"  persisted  China  Rose,  her  face 
working  slightly  in  the  darkness.  "What  say, 
Spike,  we  marry  an'  get  away  together?" 
Breathlessly  she  waited.  It  was  out,  the  thing 
she  had  been  nerving  herself  to  say  during  all 
these  months  she  had  been  trying  pitifully  to 
tighten  her  slipping  hold  on  Spike. 

Deliberately  Mr.  McGovern  spat  at  an  iron 
stake  nearby.  "I  ain't  thinkin'  o'  marryin'," 
he  stated  with  extreme  finality. 

"But  you — me — we — "  stammered  China 
Rose  through  a  haze  of  tears.  "We  oughta  get 
married,  Spike." 

Spike  narrowed  his  eyes  viciously.  "Talkin' 
church  stuff,  eh?"  he  sneered.  "Well,  what  I 
said  goes:  I  ain't  marryin'  just  now.  An' 
when  I  do — "  he  paused  provokingly. 

"Yeh?"  whispered  China  Rose  eagerly,  draw 
ing  closer. 

"When  I  do  .  .  ."  finished  Spike  McGovern 
cruelly.  "I'm  drawin'  the  color  line." 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

" But  you— but?" 

"Sweethearts  an'  wives  is  diff'runt,"  ex 
plained  Spike  loftily. 

"But  I'm  white!"  insisted  China  Eose  pas 
sionately. 

"You?"  His  mocking  laugh  mounted 
toward  the  slim  sickle  of  spring  moon  high  up  in 
the  sky.  "Don't  try  tuh  come  that  stuff  on 
me,  Eosie-girl.  Where 'd  yuh  get  those  slantin' 
eyes?  Don't  the  whole  town  know  ye 're  yella, 
China  Eose?" 

Then,  patronizingly,  "Ye 're  all  right,  Eose. 
An'  I  ain't  as  perticklar  as  some.  Just  so's 
yuh  don't  spring  no  more  o'  that  marryin'  talk 
we  kin  travel  awhile  together.  But  when  yuh 
talk  marryin',  then  I  gotta  remember  I'm  a  Mc- 
Govern,  an'  the  name's  never  been  splashed 
with  just  that  kinda  mud." 

A  pause  which  lengthened  to  awkwardness. 
Mr.  McGrovern  grew  faintly  uneasy.  "Yuh 
don't  hafta  take  it  like  that,"  he  protested  in- 
juredly.  "Be  a  sport,  Eosie.  I  like  yuh — 
sure  I  do ! " 

But  he  was  talking  to  empty  air,  China  Eose 
was  retreating  rapidly  in  all  the  dignity  of 
offended  pride.  Already  her  slight  figure  was 
only  a  dim  blur  in  the  merciful  darkness.  And 
as  she  went,  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
[175] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

It  was  a  night  she  was  to  look  back  upon  in 
later  years,  the  night  she  broke  with  Spike  Mc- 
Govern.  Hour  after  hour  she  battled  in  the 
darkness  with  the  stubborn  heart  which  called 
for  Spike,  reminding  her  with  torturing  clear 
ness  of  his  infantile  smile,  of  his  smiling  blue 
eyes,  of  the  warmth  he  could  put  at  will  into  his 
coaxing  voice.  But  even  in  her  torment  she  did 
not  reconsider  her  decision  to  put  him  out  of 
her  life.  She  had  loved  Spike  with  all  the  fresh 
young  ardor  which  was  hers,  had  looked  upon 
him  as  some  radiant  image  of  perfection,  while 
Spike  had  never  loved  her,  had  merely  conde 
scended  to  her  as  some  new  jewel  to  wear  in 
his  young  male  egotism,  despising  her  yellow 
blood  even  as  he  condescended.  All  of  this  she 
felt  vaguely,  lacking  words  for  expression. 

"I'm  through  with  Spike,"  she  told  the  ami 
ably  interested  0 'Flaherty  wanly  at  breakfast 
next  morning. 

Observing  the  reddened  eyes  and  swollen  face 
opposite,  Mr.  0 'Flaherty  was  moved  to  offer 
shrewd  advice. 

"Yuh  begun  fer  yerself,  Rosie,"  he  reasoned 
judicially.  "I  wouldn't  a-pushed  yuh  into  the 
wrong  road  meself  'cause  it  ain't  me  way.  An' 
anyhow,  I  knew  yuh  'd  hit  it  soon  enough.  But 
now  yuh  started,  yuh '11  be  keepin'  on.  Nacher- 
[176] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

ally.  Folks  won't  let  yuh  do  diff'runt  down 

here,  yah  bein'  mixed  blood  an'  all "  He 

held  up  an  expostulating  hand.  "Don't  be  flar- 
in'  up  like  that.  I  ain't  tryin'  tuh  insult  yuh. 
I'm  fond  o'  yuh  an'  I'm  handin'  yuh  straight 
goods.  It's  the  truth.  The  best  yuh  can  get 
outa  life  is  either  some  fat  ole  yella  Chink  or 
someone  fer  awhile  like  McGovern.  Straight 
goods,  Kosie,  an'  yuh  might  as  well  face  it  .  .  ." 
he  paused,  studying  her  white  face  compassion 
ately.  "An'  here's  another  little  tip:  The 
world's  mostly  made  of  people  wot  give  and 
people  wot  get.  And  mostly  women  are  the  ones 
wot  give.  But  you,  now,  Rosie,  if  yuh  gotta  be 
a  giver,  make  the  other  side  pay." 

"I  see  ..."  said  China  Rose  sullenly,  quiv 
ering  lip  held  firm  beneath  her  white  teeth.  And 
she  did  see. 

Later  on  she  astounded  Mr.  0 'Flaherty  by  a 
terse  announcement  of  her  forthcoming  mar 
riage  to  one  Tsing  Chung,  newly  come  from 
far-off  Melbourne  to  visit  his  prosperous 
brother  in  Pell  Street. 

"He's  a  Chink,  but  he  wants  tuh  marry  me," 
she  explained  briefly.  "An'  if  a  fat  ole  yella 
Chink  or  wot  I've  had's  all  I'm  goin'  ta  get 
outa  life,  I've  a  mind  ta  try  the  Chink.  He'll 
take  me  away  from  here  an' — an'  mebbe  I'll 
[177] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

getta  new  deal  out  there."  She  did  not  say  it, 
but  her  frantic  desire  to  get  away  was  at  least 
partly  due  to  the  occasional  sight  of  Spike  Mc- 
Govern. 

"Mebbe  yuh  will,"  agreed  Mr.  0 'Flaherty 
with  unexpected  sentiment.  "I'm  hopin'  so, 
Rosie.  It  ain't  no  easy  road,  the  one  yuh  been 
goin'.  An'  it  don'  lead  nowhere  where  the 
scenery's  pretty  in  the  end!" 

He  gave  her  his  blessing,  a  set  of  red  fox  furs, 
and  a  bottle  of  gin  for  wedding  presents.  The 
wedding  itself  was  a  large  affair  involving  most 
of  Chinatown,  with  a  feast  at  Ling  Foo's  Suey 
Palace  to  wind  up  with,  where  Mr.  O 'Flaherty 
himself  became  gloriously  drunk. 

Tsing  Chung,  the  elderly  rotund  bridegroom, 
was  more  than  content  with  his  bride.  From 
the  first  moment  she  had  dawned  on  his  enrap 
tured  eyes  her  exotic  beauty  had  delighted  his 
senses,  blinding  him  to  the  remonstrances  of 
his  Pell  Street  brother. 

"Indeed  is  she  beautiful,"  pointed  out  the 
staid  brother.  "But  better  beside  a  hearth  is 
a  heart  of  virtue  than  a  beautiful  face." 

"Her  beauty  is  like  to  that  of  a  golden-haired 
goddess   of  seventy  times   seven   sins!"  pro 
claimed  the  infatuated  Tsing  Chung  poetically. 
Then,  more  practically,  "I  am  not  young,  my 
[178] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

brother,  yet  possibly  will  I  obtain  from  the 
strength  and  beauty  of  this  golden-haired  god 
dess  the  son  of  my  desire." 

"When  does  a  brain  fevered  with  love  listen 
to  words  of  wisdom?"  sighed  the  brother 
acquiescently. 

"What  beside  the  prattle  of  men  children  at 
an  old  man's  knee  is  the  trifling  matter  of  chas 
tity?"  demanded  Tsing  Chung  in  return. 

He  said  as  much  to  China  Rose  when  she 
made  frank  allusion  to  her  past. 

"I  ain't  been  no  shut-in  doll,  Ching-a-Ling, " 
she  said  to  him  over  a  table  in  the  rear  of  Mr. 
0 'Flaherty's  poolroom,  blue  eyes  slightly 
weary.  "Not  knowin'  anythin'  about  life  'cept- 
in'  wot  I  heard.  Not  me!  But  I  done  as  well's 
I  could,  me  bein'  wot  I  am.  An'  as  well  as  folks 
would  let  me." 

"Indeed  so,"  agreed  Tsing  Chung,  freely 
admiring  her  square  shoulders  and  delicate 
waist.  Undoubtedly  the  man  child  of  such  a 
woman  would  be  strong  and  splendid.  ' t  So  that 
you  keep  your  sins  henceforth  to  the  bosom  of 
your  family,  what  is  past  is  dead  and  shall  not 
be  revived." 

"An',"  said  China  Eose  defiantly.  "See 
that  foot "  she  thrust  out  a  pretty  foot  sig 
nificantly.  "It  ain't  never  been  bound  an'  it 
[179] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

ain't  never  goin'  ta  be.  It's  been  free  to  walk 
where  it  wanted,  an'  it's  goin'  ta  keep  on  thata 
ways."  A  pause.  "I'm  white  an'  I'm  free — 
see?" 

"You  are  white  and  you  are  free,"  agreed 
Tsing  Chung  cordially.  And  love  barred  any 
hint  of  mockery  from  his  slanting  eyes. 

He  kept  his  promise,  Tsing  Chung  the  tailor. 
In  Melbourne  China  Eose  was  as  free  as  in  her 
native  Pell  Street,  scandalizing  the  staid  Chi 
nese  by  skimming  the  streets  at  all  hours  in 
reckless  pursuit  of  amusement,  chaffing  the 
sailors  from  various  boats,  giving  them  as  good 
as  they  sent  in  her  ready  slang. 

"Truly  this  wife  you  have  brought  from  a 
far-off  land  makes  of  her  name  a  wall  for  all 
men  to  throw  mud  against ! ' '  said  Sun  Yat  the 
Soothsayer  maliciously  to  Tsing  Chung  in  The 
Gathering  Place  of  the  Most  High,  where  he  had 
gone  to  spend  a  peaceful  hour  with  his  kind, 
listening  to  bits  of  current  gossip  and  quieting 
his  nerves  with  opalescent  poppy  smoke. 

"If  an  eagle  be  caged,  will  it  not  droop  and 
die?"  queried  Tsing  Chung  placidly,  inhaling 
deeply.  "And  does  not  my  golden-haired  wife 
come  from  a  land  claiming  the  eagle  as  an  em 
blem  of  the  freedom  of  its  people?" 
[180] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Much  harm  will  come  of  it,"  muttered  Sun 
Yat,  unconvinced. 

But  Tsing  Chung  only  smiled.  He  was  happy, 
remonstrance  and  criticism  alike  glancing  from 
his  armor  of  happiness  harmlessly.  China  Rose 
had  brought  to  his  declining  years  a  warm 
breeze  of  happiness,  with  her  free  ways  and  her 
banishing  of  dullness  indulging  his  own  long 
stifled  sense  of  romance.  Out  of  sheer  gratitude 
he  defied  Chinese  convention  for  her  sake  even 
as  China  Eose  defied  dullness. 

After  the  coming  of  the  sturdy,  blue-eyed, 
yellow-skinned  son,  named  Dennis  in  honor  of 
Mr.  0  'Flaherty,  his  gentleness  and  kindness  re 
doubled.  China  Rose  had  given  to  him  a  brief 
season  of  youth  in  which  to  banish  the  heaviness 
of  his  increasing  years,  and  now  the  joy  of  joys, 
a  son  to  worship  at  his  grave,  a  new  link  in  the 
family  chain. 

Rocking  the  baby  in  his  strong  arms,  he  would 
listen  placidly  to  China  Rose's  sharp  complaints 
against  life  in  Melbourne  as  opposed  to  the 
brightness  of  Pell  Street. 

"Gawdl"  China  Rose  would  weep.  "I'm 
that  dull  I  can't  stand  it."  After  which  she 
would  burst  into  a  storm  of  shrill  invective 
which  broke  harmlessly  upon  Tsing  Chung's  un 
changing  gentleness. 

[181] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

But  in  the  end  she  would  be  remorseful. 
"Yuh  oughta  take  a  cane  tuh  me,  Ole  Socks," 
she  would  apologize  pathetically.  "  Honest,  I 
dunno  wot  makes  such  a  HP  beast  outa  me. 
Seems  like  sumpin's  drivin'  me  all  the  time  an* 
I  gotta  act  up.  Ye 're  good  tuh  me,  but  I'm  just 
rotten,  that's  all." 

And  Tsing  Chung,  listening,  his  son  held  close 
in  his  protecting  grasp,  would  reason  shrewdly 
that  it  was  the  yellow  and  white  races  warring 
incessantly  in  her  veins. 

"I  got  one  of  them  devil  things  yuh  talk  about 
ridin'  me,"  Rose  would  finish  dejectedly,  in 
tense  blue  eyes  wistful  and  appealing. 

Involuntarily  Tsing  Chung  would  shudder. 
In  company  with  his  kind  he  nursed  a  whole 
some  awe  of  devils. 

Then  from  America  came  the  son  of  the  Pell 
Street  brother,  returning  the  visit  of  his  uncle 
as  courtesy  required. 

Tsing  Chung  made  him  welcome,  doubly  so 
in  that  the  Harvard  education  and  tailored 
clothes  of  his  nephew  lent  added  face  to  himself 
among  his  associates  in  The  Gathering  Place  of 
the  Most  High.  But  it  must  be  admitted  that 
Tsing  Fong  was  not  popular. 

"He  seems — ah,  your  honorable  nephew — to 
[182] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

lack  the  courtesy  and  respect  for  age  in  which 
a  son  of  China  is  reared,"  protested  Nat  Hong 
Ku  the  merchant,  after  listening  interminably 
to  a  glib  exposition  of  the  superiority  of  Ameri 
can  methods  over  those  of  any  other  nation. 

"His  eyes,"  said  Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer 
meditatively,  "are  set  together  like  those  of  a 
fox.  Truly  will  he  bear  watching  lest  thy  most 
precious  jewel  be  stolen." 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  gathering,  a  hush  before 
which  Tsing  Chung  gathered  his  belongings  and 
betook  himself  away,  considerably  troubled  in 
his  kindly  heart. 

And  that,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  the  beginning 
of  the  great  unhappiness  which  came  to  torment 
him,  driving  out  the  old  peace  and  content  so 
that  even  the  beloved  little  Dennis  was  nothing 
more  than  a  dead  weight  in  his  anxious  father's 
arms. 

They  were  so  suited  to  each  other,  the  sleek 
Tsing  Fong  and  China  Rose.  Even  their  early 
associations  had  been  much  the  same.  The  same 
school,  the  same  sights,  the  same  childish 
games  .  .  .  Perhaps,  in  those  days  of  her  asso 
ciation  with  Spike  McGovern,  China  Rose  would 
have  scorned  the  sleek  yellow  Tsing  Fong  of 
Pell  Street.  But  now,  in  her  loneliness  and 
dullness,  she  made  him  eagerly  welcome,  listen- 
[183] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

ing  hour  after  hour  as  he  poured  into  her  atten 
tive  ears  tales  of  the  old  familiar  streets.  And, 
watching  her  rapt  face  and  seeing  the  shimmer 
of  white  shoulders  through  flimsy  silk,  the  too 
close  together  eyes  of  Tsing  Fong  from  Pell 
Street  would  narrow  thoughtfully. 

Tsing  Fong  lingered  on  and  China  Eose  be 
came  radiant.  No  more  did  the  front  room,  with 
its  expensive  lacquered  furniture  and  gorgeous 
rugs,  its  blooming  lilies  and  gay  strips  of  satin, 
embroidered  in  sayings  of  the  ancient  philoso 
pher  before  Confucius,  echo  with  her  weeping 
complaints  against  the  dullness  of  life.  It 
echoed,  instead,  to  the  music  of  her  gay,  caress 
ing  laugh.  Yet,  strangely  enough,  depression 
had  settled  heavily  upon  Tsing  Chung.  After 
awhile,  quite  a  long  while,  he  recognized  the 
meaning  of  the  grayness  which  had  closed  in 
upon  him :  it  was  jealousy. 

Then  it  was  that  the  criticism  of  the  staid  Chi 
nese  of  Melbourne  began  to  penetrate  to  his 
heart,  no  longer  guarded  with  the  armor  of  hap 
piness,  together  with  wisps  of  suspicion  floating 
back  from  his  knowledge  of  the  sordid  youth  of 
China  Rose. 

Yet  even  after  he  knew  beyond  doubt  that  her 
heart  was  entwined  around  this  sleek-haired 
intruder  with  his  Harvard  accent  and  glib  sure- 
[184] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

ness  of  self,  Tsing  Chung  defended  China  Eose 
stoutly  in  his  thoughts. 

"They  are  both  young,"  he  reasoned  sadly, 
knowing  how  utterly  his  associates  condemned 
his  weakness,  "and  I  understand.  I  myself 
am — ah,  regrettably  no  longer  young.  And  love 
is  a  madness  which  leaps  in  the  night,  claiming 
its  prey.  Presently  will  this  intruder  return, 
home  and  things  become  as  before.  And  when 
all  is  said,  has  not  the  China  Eose  brought  into 
my  life  all  the  warmth  of  her  own  beauty  and 
youth !" 

"With  this  he  steeled  himself  against  the 
silence  which  fell  immediately  he  entered  the 
room  where  the  two  sat  together;  against  the 
joyous  laugh  w^hich  floated  down  to  him  where 
he  sat  cross-legged  on  his  table  at  work ;  against 
the  torment  inflicted  by  China  Eose  when  every 
word  she  uttered  shaped  itself  around  Tsing 
Fong  from  Pell  Street. 

"He's  class!"  she  would  say  jubilantly  to 
Tsing  Chung.  "An'  smart  as  a  steel  trap.  An' 
those  swell  clothes  he  wears  .  .  .  an 'the  way  he 
talks!" 

And  Tsing  Chung  would  agree  with  gentle 
irony,  praying  daily  to  the  bronze  tablet  which 
represented  his  ancestors  for  relief  from  the 
infliction  of  his  nephew's  presence. 
[185] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

' '  Old  stuff ! ' '  sniffed  Tsing  Fong  one  day,  re 
garding  the  bronze  tablet  contemptuously. 

"New  ways  for  youth,  age  does  not  change, 
preferring  to  cling  to  customs  tried  and  true," 
defended  Tsing  Chung  tolerantly. 

"If  yuh'd  come  outa  that  habit  of  livin'  'way 
back  a  thousand  years,  yuh'd  find  this  a  pretty 
good  IIP  ole  world,  Ole  Socks,"  rallied  China 
Rose  good-naturedly. 

"Honor,  respect  for  age,  courage  to  do  right 
...  all  these  are  old  things,"  rejoined  Tsing 
Chung.  "Yet  are  they  not  what  all  men  live 
by?" 

Involuntarily  China  Eose  shrank  back  with 
dropped  eyes,  even  the  suave  Tsing  Fong  losing 
a  hint  of  his  accustomed  poise. 

"He's  such  a  nut!"  exclaimed  China  Eose 
hastily.  "All  these  years  a-savin'  an'  scrimpin' 
tuh  go  back  tuh  China.  How's  he  know  he'll 
like  it  when  he  gets  there  ? ' ' 

"China  ..."  began  Tsing  Chung.  And 
stopped.  How  make  clear  to  young  China  the 
reverence  and  adoration  in  his  heart  for  China 
with  her  broad  rivers  and  temples? 

In  the  silence  which  followed,  Tsing  Fong 

narrowed  his  eyes  in  calculation.     How  much 

money  had  his  uncle  collected  in  the  years  of 

saving  and  scrimping?     This  emotional  inter- 

[186] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

hide  with  China  Rose  might  be  made  profitable 
if  there  were  money  enough  .  .  . 

Standing  there,  regarding  the  blonde  beauty 
of  China  Rose,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  could 
sell  that  beauty  in  China  for  a  round  sum  when 
he  wished  to  be  rid  of  her.  Perhaps,  thought 
Tsing  Fong  to  himself,  he  and  China  Rose 
would  take  that  trip  to  China  in  place  of  the 
foolish  old  man.  Tunelessly  he  began  to  whistle, 
an  American  habit  detested  by  the  quiet-loving 
Tsing  Chung. 

"I  ain't  goin'  ta  do  it!"  refused  China  Rose 
hotly  a  few  days  later.  "He's  a  good  ole  sport, 
Ching-a-Ling  is.  All  his  life  he's  been  wantin' 
tuh  go  back  tuh  China,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  ta  knife 
him  in  the  back.  Gawd — ain't  it  enough  tuh 
steal  his  wife  'thout  takin'  his  money  too?" 

"But,  O  Beloved  of  My  Heart,"  soothed 
Tsing  Fong  softly,  "I  am  not  wealthy  and  with 
out  money  to  go  far  from  the  vengeance  of 
Tsing  Chung  we  will  be  killed."  A  pause. 
"Would  you  have  me  go  without  you?"  he 
added  craftily. 

Before  the  brooding  eyes  of  China  Rose 
flashed  a  picture  of  the  dullness  of  the  days  be 
fore  the  coming  of  Tsing  Fong  from  Pell  Street, 
together  with  an  acute  realization  of  her  need 
[187] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

of  a  younger  companionship  than  that  of  Tsing 
Chung.  * '  Not  that ! ' '  she  sighed  unhappily. 

Seeing  her  indecision,  Tsing  Fong  renewed 
his  pleading.  '  *  This  grubbing  Tsing  Chung  will 
have  other  years  in  which  to  get  money,  My 
Plumblossom — years  in  which  we  shall  be  to 
gether. 

"Together  ..."  breathed  China  Rose  in 
ecstasy,  eyes  in  rapt  adoration  upon  the  slender 
Tsing  Fong.  "Yuh  love  me,  Honey-Lamb?" 

"More  than  the  rivers  love  the  great  sea 
which  draws  them  to  its  breast,"  lied  Tsing 
Fong.  "More  than  the  nightingale  loves  the 
song  of  the  male  at  mating  time." 

"Once  ..."  said  China  Eose  with  bitter 
memory,  "I  said  as  how  I'd  never  trust  a  man 
again.  But  it's  a  thing  a  woman  never  learns : 
Not  tuh  trust  a  man  wot  says  he  loves  her ! ' ' 

So,  on  an  afternoon  not  long  afterward, 
Tsing  Chung  climbed  the  steps  from  his  day's 
toil  to  find  afternoon  sunshine  gilding  the  lilies 
in  the  square  pots  on  the  windowsill  and  the 
infant  Dennis  crying  lustily  into  emptiness. 

Lifting  him  in  his  ponderous  arms,  Tsing 
Chung  spoke  to  the  indignant  child.  "We  are 
two  men  in  a  household  where  there  is  no 
[188] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

woman, ' '  he  said  gravely.    And  then :    * '  Where 
no  woman  will  ever  be,"  he  amended. 

When  Dennis,  fed  to  repletion,  fell  asleep, 
Tsing  Chung  inspected  his  rooms.  In  one  lay 
his  cash  box — empty.  In  another  he  picked  up 
a  crumpled  announcement  of  a  steamer  sailing 
for  China,  from  the  littered  floor.  In  yet  an 
other  he  found  the  ancestral  tablet  splintered 
by  a  contemptuous  heel. 

"This  must  be  avenged,"  said  Tsing  Chung 
aloud  heavily.  "Insult  may  perhaps  be  offered 
to  the  living  and  remain  unavenged.  But  never 
among  our  race  is  insult  to  the  dead  left  un 
punished.  ' ' 

Later,  sitting  forlornly  by  the  window  with 
the  blooming  lilies,  looking  out  to  where  moon 
light  cast  a  veil  of  enchantment  over  the  clutter 
of  the  dingy  street,  he  thought  sadly  of  China 
Hose,  without  rancor,  without  resentment,  only 
with  sorrow. 

"Always  in  this  world  must  some  be  born 
butterflies  forever  trying  to  fly  in  the  sun  of 
happiness ;  and  some  be  born  tortoises  plodding 
through  the  sands  of  reality;  and  some  be  born 
thieving  foxes,"  he  said  gently.  "Yet  will  a 
butterfly  be  a  butterfly.  And  always  must  a 
butterfly  yearn  for  happiness. ' ' 
[189] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"With  the  youthful  Dennis  Tsing  Chung  began 
shortly  thereafter  a  journey  which  ranged  from 
Soochow  with  its  canals  to  Pe-kin  of  the  high 
walls,  from  Canton  with  its  fragrant  camphor- 
wood  coffin  shops  to  Hong  Kong,  where  eastern 
seas  bubble  up  hot  to  the  touch  of  a  flaming 
sun.  Patiently  he  made  inquiry  regarding  a 
golden-haired  woman  with  slanting  eyes,  know 
ing  these  peculiarities  would  be  marked  and 
remembered  by  the  inquisitive  Chinese. 

And  in  Shanghai,  many  months  later,  wrhen 
he  had  almost  given  up  hope,  he  located  China 
Rose. 

"The  woman  is  ill  and  evil  days  have  come 
upon,  her,"  said  his  informant,  beady  eyes 
bright  with  curiosity.  "But  she  lives  near  the 
waterfront  in  the  house  of  an  old  woman." 

"The  wings  of  the  butterfly  are  broken,"  said 
Tsing  Chung  to  himself,  after  the  man,  his 
curiosity  unsatisfied,  had  gone. 

He  found  China  Rose  huddled  on  the  floor  in 
a  heap  of  rags,  her  face  flushed  with  fever, 
golden  hair  untidy,  blue  eyes  wide  and  bright. 

"It's  Ching-a-Ling ! "  she  said  without  fear, 
recognizing  him  with  a  crazy  laugh. 

Then,  plucking  restlessly  at  her  ragged  dress, 
"I'm  glad  yuh  come,  Ole  Socks.  I  done 
yuh  dirt,  an*  I'd  like  a  chanst  tuh  say  'I'm 
[190] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

sorry'   before    they    ring    the    bells    on   me.'* 

Tsing  Chung  approached,  his  heart  wrung 
with  pity  at  the  sight  of  her  miserable  condi 
tion.  And  of  a  sudden  her  mouth  twisted. 

"That  Tsing  Fong  .  .  ."  she  gasped  agoniz 
ingly.  "He  weren't  no  good.  Sold  me  out  tuh 
a  bloomin'  tea  house — made  a  tea  house  doll 
outa  me  wot's  always  been  free!" 

"There,  Little  Butterfly,"  soothed  Tsing 
Chung  gently,  gazing  at  her  drooped  mouth  and 
tormented  face.  "I  know." 

"But  I  got  away  ..."  she  rushed  on  tri 
umphantly.  "Sumpin  .  .  .  sumpin  I  want  tuh 
tell  yuh,  Ching-a-Ling ! "  she  added  incoher 
ently.  And  lapsed  into  unintelligible  delirium. 

Why  Tsing  Chung,  with  every  intention  of 
making  China  Rose  expiate  her  sin,  should  care 
fully  nurse  her  back  first  to  something  like 
health  is  a  twist  of  Oriental  reasoning  incom 
prehensible  to  Occidental  mind. 

Nothing  could  have  been  kinder  or  more  gen 
tle  than  the  skill  with  which  he  nursed  her,  lift 
ing  her  in  great  kind  arms  to  rest  her  weari 
ness,  purchasing  for  her  the  comfort  of  an 
American  brass  bed  with  white  sheets. 

"I  don't  see  why  yuh  do  it,"  pondered  China 
Rose  one  day,  comfortable  against  her  fresh 
linens  and  soft  pillows. 

[191] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

A  faint  pink  had  come  back  to  her  hollow 
cheeks,  her  eyes  had  something  of  the  old 
sparkle,  the  golden  hair  had  been  carefully  ar 
ranged  by  Tsing  Chung.  "Good  ole  Ole 
Socks ! ' '  she  finished  feebly. 

A  pain  of  reminiscence,  dagger  sharp,  thrust 
deep  into  Tsing  Chung's  soft  heart. 

"Now  that  you  are  better,  we  will  talk,"  he 
said,  settling  himself  beside  her  on  the  floor. 

"Dennis?"  inquired  China  Eose  in  a  whisper. 
"Where's  he?" 

"With  an  honorable  kinsman,"  informed 
Tsing  Chung. 

"I  s'pose  I  ain't  fit  tuh  see  him?"  longingly. 

"You  are  not  fit,"  agreed  Tsing  Chung. 

"I'm  sorry  now  fer  wot  I  did,"  said  China 
Eose.  "But  it's  too  late  now — it  always  is  too 
late  when  yuh  are  sorry. ' ' 

A  long  silence.  Then,  looking  at  the  face  with 
its  slanting  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair  he  had  so 
loved,  Tsing  Chung  spoke  sorrowfully.  "The 
wrong  you  have  done  me  could  be  forgiven,  but 
a  stain  rests  upon  the  name  of  my  honorable 
ancestors.  There  is  but  one  way " 

A  smile  of  faint  amusement  touched  the  pale 

lips  of  China  Eose.     "Still  livin'  a  thousand 

years    back,    Ching-a-Ling?"    she    murmured. 

"Well,  I'm  Chink  enough  tuh  know  wot  yer 

[192] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

mean,  Ole  Socks.  An'  if  my  dyin's  goin'  ta 
give  yuh  any  real  satisfaction,  I  reckon  I  don't 
mind.  Mebbe  in  that  next  world  they  don't 
draw  the  color  line  so  almighty  close!"  In  her 
words  throbbed  the  old,  old  hurt  of  the  night 
she  had  broken  with  Spike  McGovern. 

Shakily  Tsing  Chung  prepared  a  drink  of 
rice  wine  in  a  goblet  of  beaten  silver  centuries 
old,  dropping  into  its  depths  a  pill  of  uncooked 
opium,  after  which  he  handed  it  to  China  Eose 
with  hands  which  trembled  visibly. 

''Gotta  have  a  lil'  more  nerve  tuh  get  away 
with  this  sorta  thing,  Ole  Socks,"  chided  China 
Rose  affectionately,  with  a  wisp  of  her  old  reck 
less  laugh  as  the  wine  slopped  over  onto  her 
thin  hands.  Then,  looking  down  into  the  gob 
let:  "Ain't  it  like  life,  Ching-a-Ling?"  she 
sighed.  "Pretty  on  top  an'  bitter  under 
neath?" 

Unhesitatingly  she  drained  the  goblet,  hand 
ing  it  back  into  his  trembling  hands  with  a 
smile.  "There,  Ole  Socks,  goin'  ta  fergive 
Bosie  fer  bein'  a  bad  girl?  I  been  punished. 
That  Tsing  Fong — he  wuz  a  bad  lot.  It  wuz 
him  busted  yer  tablet.  I  tole  him  tuh  let  it 
alone,  but  he  wuz  that  mean!" 

Drowsily  she  let  her  head  slip  back  against 
the  pillows. 

£193] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

''Not  so  bad,  Ole  Socks,  this  dyin'  business. 
Mebbe  I  shoulda  tried  it  sooner  an'  saved  a  lotta 
trouble  for  everybody!" 

And  then,  looking  down  at  the  elfin  wistful- 
ness  of  her  sleepy  face,  a  cry  of  irrepressible 
regret  surged  up  from  the  very  bottom  of  Tsing 
Chung's  heart.  "If  only  you  could  have  ap 
peased  the  wrath  of  my  ancestors!"  he  stam 
mered.  "If  you  had  but  punished  this  wicked 
Tsing  Fong  I  could  have  forgiven  you!" 

China  Eose  smiled  the  elfish  smile  with  which 
a  child  betrays  knowledge  of  some  secret  prank. 
"Then  the  joke's  on  you,  Ole  Socks,"  she  mur 
mured  sleepily.  "It's  wot  I  wanted  tuh  tell  yuh 
before:  That  Tsing  Fong  ...  I  got  him.  Slid 
a  knife  right  in  between  his  rotten  ribs.  So  I 
guess  .  .  .  the  joke's  on  you,  Ole  Socks!" 

And,  looking  downward  at  her  face,  like  that 
of  a  naughty  sleeping  child,  realizing  that  for 
him  all  the  light  and  beauty  and  joy  in  life  had 
vanished  forever,  Tsing  Chung,  shrunken  and 
old,  acknowledged  she  was  right. 


[  194  ] 


"THE   GOLD  LACQUERED 
BOX" 


THEY  were  twins,  the  brothers  Sing,  born 
to  the  childless  wife  of  a  jade  worker  in 
the  Forbidden  City  at  the  season  of  the 
Chinese  New  Year,  when  giant  firecrackers  of 
rejoicing  were  bursting  into  crimson  fragments 
and  street  stalls  were  piled  high  with  silver 
strips  of  sugared  cocoanut  and  candied  citrous 
fruit. 

Upon  the  unrestrained  joy  of  the  jadeworker 
and  his  wife,  however,  the  priest  who  came  to 
shave  the  infants  at  the  feast  of  the  shaving  of 
the  head  laid  a  chastening  admonition : 

"Such  great  good  fortune  will  undoubtedly 
attract  the  attention  of  evil  spirits,"  he  an 
nounced  gravely  to  the  jadeworker  and  his  doll- 
like  wife  in  her  gay  brocade  coat  and  trousers. 

Thoughtfully  he  studied  the  two  gold-colored 
infants  in  their  jackets  of  red,  their  trousers  of 
blue,  and  their  shoes  of  purple.  "One  of  these 
infants  will  be  inhabited  by  an  evil  spirit  es 
caped  from  hell,  casting  evil  influence  upon  all 
he  beholds,"  he  finished  solemnly. 

"But  which?"  breathed  the  frightened 
parents. 

[197] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

''Now  that  ..."  hesitated  the  priest  can- 
nily,  ".  .  .  is  something  even  my  great  wisdom 
cannot  determine." 

Uneasily  the  jadeworker  and  his  wife  re 
garded  the  two  gold-colored  infants,  as  alike  as 
two  peas,  while  their  guests  prepared  hastily 
to  depart. 

Then  the  wife  of  the  jadeworker,  summoning 
the  guile  of  a  mother,  regained  confidence. 
"The  father  of  my  sons  is  a  man  of  power," 
she  asserted.  "Moreover  does  he  possess  a 
gold  lacquered  box  containing  a  porcelain  fish. 
Long  years  have  the  family  of  Sing  held  this 
porcelain  fish  in  the  gold  box.  And  in  all  these 
years  good  spirits  have  guarded  the  family 
from  evil." 

"A  most  potent  charm,"  agreed  the  priest 
dubiously. 

"And,"  continued  the  jadeworker 's  wife,  her 
courage  increasing,  "to  my  sons  as  milk  names 
will  I  give  the  names  of  girls,  fooling  the  evil 
spirits  into  believing  they  are  of  no  conse 
quence.  Moreover  .  .  .  will  I  pierce  the  right 
ear  of  each  and  insert  rings,  causing  even  the 
jealous  gods  to  believe  they  are  girls,  and  there 
fore  not  desire  them ! ' ' 

"A  wise  precaution!"  assured  the  priest  ad 
miringly. 

[198] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

The  twins  thrived,  but  in  later  years  their 
marvelous  resemblance  diminished,  minute 
physical  differences  distinguishing  each  from 
the  other :  Sing  Lu  was  taller,  thinner ;  Sing  Foo 
shorter,  sturdier.  Other  less  apparent  differ 
ences,  striking  deeper,  also  served  to  separate 
them  into  individuality. 

From  Sing  Foo,  the  younger  by  a  matter  of 
minutes,  the  dogs  of  the  street  fled  in  a  shriek 
ing  crescendo  of  horror  when  he  appeared  on 
his  sturdy  little  yellow  legs,  his  hair  gathered 
into  a  topknot  above  his  gleaming  eyes.  Chil 
dren  playing  peaceably  scattered  as  leaves  be 
fore  a  wind  at  his  warlike  approach. 

From  the  gentle  hands  of  Sing  Lu,  the  elder, 
even  the  goldfish  and  turtles  of  the  temple  pools 
fed  fearlessly,  all  manner  of  living  things  divin 
ing  in  him  a  friendly  sympathy. 

As  they  reached  manhood  the  differences  in 
the  two  widened  into  a  breach,  cleaving  them  in 
twain.  Sing  Lu  leaned  to  the  life  of  a  student, 
finding  pleasure  in  the  beautiful  words  of  Li  Po 
and  Po  Chui-i,  poets  of  the  Chinese  golden  age, 
in  the  sayings  of  the  gentle  Gautama  Buddha, 
and  in  drawing  melody  from  bamboo  flute  or 
san  sheu.  For  Sing  Foo,  the  younger,  only 
the  vices  of  his  country  held  attraction:  the 
hot  sting  of  Chinese  rice  whiskey  flavored 
[199] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

with  powdered  ginger,  the  drugged  leth 
argy  of  poppy  fumes,  the  swift  thrill  of  gam 
bling  tables  edged  with  crowding,  intent  yellow 
faces. 

"Truly,'*  said  the  jadeworker  to  his  elder 
son,  "are  you  the  light  of  my  days  while  your 
brother  is  the  thorn  in  my  flesh!" 

"He  is  young,  0  Respected  Father,"  would 
defend  Sing  Lu  gently.  "Perhaps  in  later 
years  he  will  achieve  wisdom  and  we  can  form 
of  him  a  man  of  standing. ' ' 

Dejectedly  the  jadeworker  would  shrug  elo 
quent  shoulders.  "Can  rotten  wood  be 
carved?"  he  would  demand.  "And  does  wis 
dom  come  where  the  room  for  it  is  not  swept 
and  garnished  and  made  ready1?  AM  .  .  .  the 
priest  spoke  truly  at  the  shaving  feast:  Your 
body  is  the  dwelling  place  of  good  spirits,  and 
that  of  your  brother  of  a  spirit  from  hell!" 

Owing,  according  to  the  jadeworker 's  bitter 
insistence,  to  the  evil  influence  of  his  younger 
son,  his  business  dwindled  and  fell  away. 

A  day  came  when  the  father,  summoning  his 
two  sons  into  Ms  presence,  laid  upon  them  his 
commands : 

"The  business  which  is  mine  no  longer  pro 
vides  rice  for  four  mouths,"  he  informed  them. 
"Wherefore  it  is  advisable  your  daily  rice  be 
[200] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

earned  elsewhere.  Leng  Hi,  now  returned  from 
a  far-off  land,  has  told  me  tales  of  the  wealth  a 
prudent  man  may  garner  there.  To  each  of 
you,  therefore,  will  I  give  four  pieces  of  gold 
and  a  sharp  knife  of  bright  steel.  And  to  Sing 
Lu,  who  is  the  elder  and  my  beloved  son,  will  I 
give  the  gold  lacquered  box  with  the  porcelain 
fish — this  that  your  fortunes  may  prosper. 
And  of  your  good  fortune  a  share  is  to  be  re 
turned  to  me,  your  father,  according  to  the  duty 
of  a  good  son." 

"It  shall  be  done,"  agreed  Sing  Lu,  receiving 
into  his  hands  reverently  the  gold  box. 

"For  the  gold-lacquered  box  and  the  porce 
lain  fish  I  will  give  to  you  my  four  pieces  of 
gold!"  offered  Sing  Foo  greedily. 

"I  am  the  elder,  to  me  belongs  the  box,"  re 
fused  Sing  Lu. 

Fires  of  hate  kindled  in  the  smooth  yellow 
face  of  Sing  Foo,  and  the  father,  watching, 
sighed  sorrowfully. 

"Always  upon  what  his  evil  eyes  behold  falls 
the  influence  of  evil ! "  he  complained. 

Wherefore,  after  the  departure  of  the  two,  he 
took  pains  to  cleanse  his  home  of  the  presence 
of  evil  spirits  by  an  exploding  of  some  two 
dozen  packs  of  firecrackers  and  an  offering  of 
paper  money  at  the  temple. 
£201] 


THE  STREET  OF  A. 

In  Melbourne,  in  The  Street  of  a  Thousand 
Delights,  Sing  Lu  labored  faithfully,  hoarding 
his  four  pieces  of  gold  and  guarding  the  gold- 
lacquered  box,  while  Sing  Foo  squandered  his 
gold  in  the  establishment  of  Wong  Ting  Fu, 
with  its  ebony  bunks  and  tasseled  pipes  and  in 
that  house  behind  the  balconies  of  which 
gleamed  pearl-white  faces. 

To  the  remonstrating  Sing  Lu  he  made  sneer 
ing  reply:  "Life  is  short,  0  Respected  Elder 
Brother,  and  the  blood  of  youth  runs  hotly  but 
once.  Who  can  tell  of  the  next  life — or  the  last? 
To  me  there  is  no  yesterday,  since  that  is  past ; 
nor  any  to-morrow,  since  that  may  never  come ; 
there  is  only  to-day. ' ' 

"  Never  will  you  repay  the  four  pieces  of  gold 
to  our  father  with  such  talk!"  protested 
Sing  Lu. 

"But  you,  0  Hard- Working  One,  will  repay 
it  four  times  four,"  retorted  Sing  Foo  impu 
dently.  "For  have  you  not  the  porcelain  fish 
to  assure  your  fortune?  Give  to  me  the  porce 
lain  fish  and  I  will  work ! ' ' 

"Not  so!"  refused  Sing  Lu.  "Who  knows 
but  you  would  exchange  it  for  poppy  smoke?" 

From  the  lowliness  of  pushing  a  barrow  with 
its  freight  of  wilted  vegetables,  Sing  Lu  rose  in 
due  time  to  the  dignity  of  a  tiny  shop,  bringing 
[202] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

with  him  from  his  barrow  days  but  one  thing 
of  value :  his  friendship  with  Gwenny,  daughter 
of  an  English  adventurer  drifting  in  from  the 
bush  to  die. 

They  met  first  on  a  day  when  Sing  Lu,  leav 
ing  his  barrow  in  the  sun  while  he  delivered 
vegetables  to  a  thrifty  housewife,  was  moved 
by  sudden  shouts  into  returning  hastily  to  sal 
vage  his  wares  from  a  band  of  marauding  boys. 
And  then,  trying  with  both  hands  to  protect  his 
stock  and  likewise  his  shins  from  sly  kicks  and 
scrapes,  he  became  aware  of  an  avenging  whirl 
wind  in  the  shape  of  a  striking,  kicking  girl  of 
fourteen  in  a  torn  dress. 

Presently  they  stood  alone,  the  tall  China 
man,  his  dignity  unruffled,  and  the  flushed,  pant 
ing  Gwenny,  one  sleeve  torn  away  from  a  milk- 
white  shoulder,  her  ruddy  hair  streaming  down 
to  either  side  of  her  pink  and  white  face,  one 
lip  slightly  cut  and  a  thin  trickle  of  blood  oozing 
down. 

"It  weren't  fair!"  exclaimed  Gwenny  pas 
sionately  to  Sing  Lu.  "So  many  o'  them  an* 
you  just  one!  And  yer  didn't  do  no  thin '  ter 
them." 

And,  looking  down  at  Gwenny  with  her  pas 
sionate  resentment  of  injustice,  admiration 
stirred  and  woke  in  Sing  Lu.  "You  might  have 
[203] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

been  hurt,"  lie  said  in  the  careful  English  he 
had  cultivated.  ' '  Why  should  you  risk  so  much 
for  a  yellow  man?" 

"It  weren't  fair!"  repeated  Gwenny  hotly. 
"Yer  hadn't  done  nothin'!" 

Gravely  Sing  Lu  selected  a  banana  from  his 
cart.  "Will  you  take  it?" 

"Won't  I  just!"  Ravenously  she  fell  upon 
it,  extending  something  in  the  way  of  apology 
for  her  rapacity.  "Sometimes  we  eats  in  our 
family,  an7  sometimes  we  don't,"  she  explained 
with  dry  humor.  "An'  just  now  we  don't !  The 
guv 'nor — he  don't  care  much,  he's  a  drinker, 
an'  men  wot  drinks  don't  eat  overmuch.  But 
me  now — I  got  an  appetite. ' ' 

"Every  day,"  promised  Sing  Lu,  "will  I 
bring  to  you  a  gift  of  food. ' ' 

"Ye 're  all  right,  Chinky!"  cried  Gwenny 
joyously.  "I'll  be  here." 

During  the  years  Sing  Lu  patiently  pushed 
his  barrow,  he  liked  to  feel,  watching  the  steady 
growth  of  the  girl,  that  he  had  helped  minister 
to  that  growth.  And  since,  in  every  being  pos 
sessed  of  the  creative  impulse,  exists  in  exact 
proportion  a  need  of  creation  demanding  outlet, 
as  the  months  slipped  by  Gwenny  became  in  no 
small  measure  the  creation  of  the  lonely  Sing 
[204] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Lu,  her  plastic  soul  taking  on  his  own  love  of 
beauty,  something  of  his  gentleness,  his  wor 
shiping  admiration  of  purity,  honor,  and  fair 
play.  Not  even  Sing  Lu,  thrilling  with  the 
pride  of  achievement  as  Gwenny  expanded  into 
beauty  both  spiritual  and  physical,  realized 
how  much  of  his  own  soul  had  gone  into  her 
development. 

"Two  things  worth  while  there  are  in  this 
wicked  world  ..."  Sing  Lu  would  say  in  his 
gentle  sing-song  voice  to  the  raptly  listening 
Gwenny  ".  .  .  beauty  and  love!"  One  kind 
hand  would  stroke  Gwenny 's  untidy  curls. 
"Yet  beauty — even  such  as  yours,  Little 
Flowering  Tree — must  be  unspotted  with  evil 
to  bloom  into  perfection.  For  always  evil  de 
stroys  the  thing  it  has  marked  as  surely  as 
locusts  destroy  a  harvest." 

"Ye 're  a  rum  one!"  Gwenny  would  retort, 
his  words  finding  an  echo  in  her  own  breast. 
"But  somehow  I  likes  ter  listen  ter  yer,  Sing." 

Only  once  did  Sing  Lu  see  the  father,  a 
bloated,  shifty-eyed,  untidy  man  in  no  wise  re 
sembling  Gwenny  with  her  bright  fearlessness. 

"He  says  as  how  he's  me  dad,"  confided 
Gwenny,  trudging  alongside  of  Sing  Lu  to  the 
amusement  of  beholders.  "But  I'm  takin'  his 
[205] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

words  with  a  pinch  o'  salt.  I  don't  somehow 
feel  we're  related.  An'  I'd  not  be  feelin'  that 
way  if  he  was. ' ' 

But  Sing  Lu,  remembering  the  perpetual  en 
mity  between  himself  and  Sing  Foo,  his  twin, 
was  not  so  sure. 

"  There  is,  sometimes,  Little  Plumblossom, " 
he  explained  softly,  "a  kinship  between 
strangers,  between  even  people  of  a  different 
race.  And  then,  sometimes  between  those  of 
the  same  blood  a  distance  which  cannot  be 
traversed. ' ' 

A  pause  while  Gwenny  dug  for  the  meaning 
of  his  words.  "It's  true!"  she  agreed  ex 
citedly.  "There's  you  an'  me  ter  prove  it, 
Chinky.  I'm  happy  when  I'm  with  you,  Sing, 
even  if  ye  're  yellow  an'  all.  But  when  I'm  with 

him "  she  shivered  distastefully.  "I  wants 

ter  get  away.  I  feels  just  like  a  rat  caught  in 
a  bloomin'  cage  turnin'  round  an'  round  ..." 

"He  is — ah — unkind  to  you?"  inquired  Sing 
Lu  gently. 

For  answer  Gwenny  turned  up  her  ragged 
sleeve,  exposing  a  circle  of  violet  fingerprints 
against  the  milky  whiteness  of  her  slender  arm. 

"He  pinches,  tryin'  ter  make  me  holler.  An' 
he  hates  it  because  I  won't!"  she  explained  suc 
cinctly.  "He  used  ter  beat  me — pokers,  sticks, 
[206] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

anything  he  could  grab.  But  now "  she 

threw  back  her  head,  squaring  her  shoulders 
proudly.  "He's  afraid,  wot  with  his  goin' 
downhill  so  fast,  he  ain't  strong  enough.  He 
just  comes  sneakin'  up  back  o'  me  an'  pinches, 
sudden-like  ..."  Flame  showed  in  her  superb 
tawny  eyes. 

Sing  Lu  said  nothing,  but  with  the  queer  in 
tuition  existing  between  them,  she  divined  his 
sympathy. 

"Never  mind,"  consoled  Gwenny.  "He 
won't  last  long  now.  An'  it  ain't  so  bad  any 
more.  Up  in  the  bush  where  we  didn't  see  any 
one  often,  it  was  fair  bad  ..."  she  gave  a 
shrug  of  repulsion.  "But  now  he  don't  darst 
touch  me  often."  A  pause.  "One  thing, 
though,  it's  put  me  off  men  forever,  knowin' 
wot  a  beast  he  is.  There  ain't  goin'  ter  be  no 
man  in  my  life — not  after  him!" 

"There  is  love  ..."  objected  Sing  Lu 
quietly. 

"Love!"  Gwenny  gave  a  scoffing  laugh. 
"S'pose  my  mother  thought  as  how  she  loved 
him — else  why  would  she  be  wantin'  ter  be  with 
him?  An'  look  wot  she  got  outer  it:  kicks  an* 
curses  an'  blows  an'  hard  work  every  day  o* 
her  life.  That 's  wot  love  means  f er  a  woman ! ' ' 

"Yet  for  you  there  will  some  day  be  love," 
[207] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

persisted  Sing  Lu,  looking  down  at  Gwenny 
with  her  strong  shoulders  and  white  arms,  her 
length  of  limb  and  her  firm  young  breast. 
"For  every  one,  perhaps  not,  but  for  you  .  .  . 
yes ! ' ' 

"I  hates  men — all  exceptin*  you,"  insisted 
Gwenny  doggedly. 

"Yet  there  will  be  one  you  will  not  hate," 
said  Sing  Lu  with  something  of  sadness.  *  *  See, 
Little  Wild  Bird,  it  is  the  nature  of  a  tree  to 
bud,  of  a  flower  to  bloom,  and  of  a  woman  to 
love  .  .  .  for  that  is  life." 

"Ain't  yer  a  queer  one!"  exclaimed  Gwenny 
derisively.  "Yer  talk  like  a  bloomin'  book. 
Wot  does  yer  know  about  love  yerself,  Sing?" 

For  just  a  second  a  smile,  half  bitter,  half 
sweet,  twisted  the  thin  lips  of  Sing  Lu  as  to  him 
came  brief  remembrance  of  a  haunting  face 
showing  from  a  sedan  chair  decked  in  Imperial 
yellow,  then  further  remembrance  of  a  high 
wall  scaled  by  agile  limbs  and  of  the  flushed 
face  and  trembling  hands  of  a  princess  of  the 
blood  imperial.  But  since,  after  all,  the  son  of 
a  jadeworker  has  nothing  in  common  with  a 
wearer  of  imperial  yellow  save  perhaps  the 
sudden  flowering  of  mutual  passion,  the  mem 
ory  of  golden  moments  spent  together,  and  the 
[208] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

sharing  of  the  pain  of  parting,  Sing  Lu  put 
remembrance  definitely  away  from  him. 

"One  man  learns  by  lack,  another  by  posses 
sion,  yet  in  every  heart  is  a  knowledge  of  love," 
he  returned  evasively. 

"Ye 're  a  queer  one!"  speculated  Gwenny. 
"But  I  likes  yer  anyhow,  Sing." 

The  liking  continued.  "When  Sing  Lu  aban 
doned  his  barrow  and  started  up  his  tiny 
shop,  Gwenny  would  descend  upon  him  at  all 
hours. 

"How's  business,  Sing?"  she  would  inquire 
gayly.  And  then,  hungrily:  "Wot  yer  got  fer 
me  to-day,  Ole  Teller  Sweetness?" 

"Sweets  from  far-off  countries."  Sing  Lu 
would  smile,  holding  out  some  trifle,  his  heart 
beating  in  tune  to  the  music  of  the  voice  which 
had  come  to  mean  so  much  to  him. 

And  Gwenny,  utterly  disregarding  the  slink 
ing  Sing  Poo,  would  perch  on  the  side  of  a 
barrel,  entering  into  gay,  rallying  conversation 
with  Sing  Lu,  shrugging  aside  the  sly  glances 
of  Sing  Foo  fastened  upon  her  slim  white  throat 
and  the  brightness  of  her  hair. 

"I  can't  stand  that  there  brother  o*  yours, 
Sing,"  she  complained  frankly.  "He  fair 
makes  me  shiver  like  I'd  touched  a  toad  or 
[209] 


THE  STREET  OF  'A. 

somethin' !  Queer,  ain't  it,  me  thinkin'  so  much 
o'  you,  an'  Mm  bein'  yer  brother?" 

' '  Perhaps  not  entirely  queer ! ' '  retorted  Sing 
Lu  thoughtfully. 

"Keep  your  evil  eyes  away  from  this  flower 
I  have  tended  so  carefully,"  he  commanded 
sternly  of  Sing  Foo  when  they  were  alone. 
"Else  will  I  turn  you  into  the  street  to  beg  for 
your  daily  rice." 

Sullenly  Sing  Foo  obeyed,  but  in  his  evil 
fancy  the  image  of  Gwenny  persisted,  not  to  be 
banished  by  Sing  Lu's  threat. 

And  then,  with  Gwenny  growing  into  in 
creased  beauty  and  his  little  business  prosper 
ing  mightily,  came  for  Sing  Lu  the  beginning 
of  evil  days,  bringing  a  dimness  to  his  narrow 
almond-shaped  eyes  and  peopling  his  world 
with  ever  darkening  gray  shadows. 

With  his  keen  Mongolian  brain  Sing  Lu, 
struggling  with  the  gray  shadows,  realized  fully 
what  this  would  mean  to  him.  Soon — very 
soon — the  rapidly  prospering  business  would 
slip  through  his  fumbling  fingers  into  the 
greedy  grasp  of  Sing  Foo.  That  was  inescapa 
ble.  For  the  strong  were  the  good  things  of 
the  world  intended ;  for  the  weak  only  the  drip 
pings  from  the  full  pot  of  the  mighty.  Pres 
ently  for  him  would  be  only  a  grudging  corner 
[210] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

in  Ms  own  shop,  the  charity  of  a  casually  thrown 
word,  for  his  active  brain  the  golden  beads  of 
thought  he  had  garnered  in  his  years  of  study, 
for  his  darkened  eyes  only  the  pictures  remain 
ing  of  that  colorful  life  in  the  Forbidden  City. 

Day  after  day  he  strove  to  fix  pictures  upon 
his  mind  with  every  detail  of  glowing  color: 
The  great  gate  to  the  Forbidden  City  itself ;  the 
garden  of  the  Imperial  palace ;  a  patch  of  clear 
turquoise  blue  sky  among  a  rift  of  mounting 
clouds;  a  painted  houseboat  floating  down  a 
river  at  peachblossom  time;  the  slim  sickle  of 
a  moon  shining  through  papery  leaves  of  bam 
boo  .  .  .  jealously  Sing  Lu  caught  at  every 
fragment  of  beauty  which  had  made  itself  felt 
in  his  life.  This  much  he  would  have — no  more. 

"Two  things  there  are  in  life  which  are 
worth  while  .  .  ."  he  repeated  again  and  again 
as  the  dragging  days  went  by  and  Sing  Foo's 
sharp  eyes  penetrated  his  effort  to  disguise  his 
failing  sight  ".  .  .  beauty  and  love."  A 
pause.  "The  one  I  shall  keep  .  .  .  but  the 
other "  he  sighed,  turning  the  key  to  re 
membrance  upon  his  past.  "Of  what  use  is 
love  to  a  blind  man?"  he  finished  philosophi 
cally. 

Gwenny's  distress  when  she  learned  of  his 
misfortune  was  pitiful. 

[211] 


THE  STREET  OF  A. 

"It  ain't  fair!"  she  insisted,  in  the  very 
words  of  their  first  encounter.  "What'd  yer 
ever  do  ter  have  this  come  upon  yer?  If  it'd 
been  that  there  Sing  Foo  now,  it'd  be  differ 
ent — but  you!  What'd  yer  ever  do,  Ole  Teller 
Sweetness  ? ' ' 

"Eyes  which  cannot  see  outwardly,  see  in 
wardly,  O  Tender  Little  Heart,"  consoled  Sing 
Lu.  * '  Many  things  are  clear  to  me  which  were 
not  clear  before.  Always  for  everything  taken 
away  is  something  given  in  return." 

"Ye 're  a  rum  one!"  cried  Gwenny  in  a  voice 
choked  with  tears.  "But  I'll  be  standin'  by 
yer,  Sing.  An'  if  that  ugly  Sing  Foo  gets  too 
much  fer  yer,  I'll  take  yer  in.  Now  that  the 
guv  'nor 's  gone — Gawd  rest  him — there  ain't  no 
one  but  just  me." 

"0  Tender  Little  Heart!"  said  Sing  Lu 
again,  and  in  his  own  voice  was  a  surging  of 
emotion. 

"Ain't  I   wot  yer   made  me?"   demanded 

Gwenny  unsteadily.    "Look "  she  directed 

his  straining  eyes  to  a  passing  figure  with  run 
down  heels  and  draggled  plumes.  "Exceptin' 
fer  you,  there  goes  me!  Where  was  I  ter  learn 
all  wot  yer  taught  me  about  bein'  decent  an'  all? 
Yer  kept  me  from  starvin'  an-  worse  many  a 
time,  Sing." 

[212] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Your  eyes,"  returned  Sing  Lu  gently, 
"were  upon  the  gutter  which  is  filled  with  filth, 
and  I  have  lifted  them  to  the  sky,  which  is  filled 
with  beauty."  A  pause.  "According  to  the 
Lord  Buddha,  it  is  the  duty  of  each  soul  to 
assist  in  the  growth  of  another,"  he  finished. 

Accurately  he  had  forecast  his  future.  With 
his  growing  blindness  Sing  Foo  gathered  the 
business  into  his  own  avaricious  hands,  nor  did 
Sing  Lu  outwardly  resent  it.  The  strong  pro 
gressed,  the  weak  endured,  according  to  their 
capacity,  he  told  his  sore  heart.  It  was  life, 
therefore  it  must  be  just. 

Days  followed  in  which  Sing  Lu,  solitary  and 
apart,  except  for  the  kindness  of  Gwenny, 
strove  for  a  philosophy  to  blunt  the  edge  of  his 
loneliness. 

"There  is  no  Sing  Foo;  there  is  no  blindness; 
there  is  only  my  individual  self  with  its  mem 
ories.  All  else  is  nothing;  only  what  is  past  is 
real,"  he  would  murmur  again  and  again  to 
himself. 

In  the  Gathering  Place  of  the  Most  High, 
where  he  went  occasionally,  drawing  deep  into 
his  lungs  acrid  smoke  provided  by  the  gener 
osity  of  the  worthy  Nat  Hong  Ku,  his  blindness 
was  a  subject  for  jest  and  reproach,  for  the 
Chinese  are  notoriously  lacking  in  sympathy. 
[213] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"Of  what  use  is  the  lotus  pipe  to  a  blind 
man?"  would  jeer  fat  Ah  Ling,  the  importer. 

"Not  so,  0  Pudding  on  Legs,"  would  retort 
Sing  Lu.  "The  lotus  pipe  sets  free  the  eyes 
of  my  spirit,  and  I  see  ..." 

He  was  fairly  launched  into  a  marvelous  tale, 
speaking  rapidly  in  a  high  sing-song  voice,  set 
ting  forth  a  colorful  romance  of  the  vanished 
land,  making  clear  a  picture  to  dull  brains. 

"You  are  a  poet !"  would  extol  Nat  Hong  Ku 
admiringly. 

"I  am  but  a  paper  tiger,  a  man  without  eyes, 
a  lion  without  teeth,"  Sing  Lu  would  demur 
placidly. 

And,  hearing,  jealousy  would  seethe  in  the 
narrow  soul  of  Sing  Foo,  his  twin. 

* '  One  thing  has  this  paper  tiger  which  I  still 
covet!"  he  would  murmur  to  himself,  thinking 
of  the  gold-lacquered  box.  Then,  his  thoughts 
going  to  the  pink  and  white  and  gold  beauty  of 
Gwenny:  "And  perhaps  another!"  he  would 
finish,  a  smile  of  malice  uncovering  his  yellow 
teeth.  "Yet  to  the  patient  are  all  things  pos 
sible!" 

Wherefore  to  Sing  Lu  he  said  bluntly: 
* '  Since  light  has  been  denied  your  eyes  the  daily 
rice  you  consume  is  wasted.  If  you  want  some 
thing  sharp,  here  is  a  knife;  if  you  want  some- 
[214] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

tiling  soft,  then  here  is  a  rope,  new  and  strong. 
And  when  you  are  most  satisfactorily  dead, 
then  will  I  send  you  back  to  our  father  in  a 
coffin  ornamented  with  crimson  dragons,  to  be 
buried  by  him  in  a  pleasant  place  most  agree 
able  to  your  spirit. ' ' 

"You  are,  O  Younger  Brother,  in  all  things 
to  your  interest  most  considerate,"  refused 
Sing  Lu  with  gentle  irony. 

His  very  gentleness  inflamed  Sing  Foo  to 
further  malicious  speech. 

"These  many  times  have  you  rebuked  me  for 
my  conduct,  O  Respected  Elder  Brother,"  he 
continued,  grinning  with  rage.  "Quoting  to  me 
from  the  weak  sayings  of  Gautama  Buddha, 
and  warning  me  of  great  misfortune  to  come 
of  my  wicked  ways.  Yet  to  me  has  come  pros 
perity,  which  is  the  seal  of  a  successful  life, 
and  to  you,  believer  in  gentleness,  in  truth,  and 
in  mercy,  has  the  great  misfortune  come ! ' ' 

"The  power  of  the  Lord  Buddha  is  great," 
disputed  Sing  Lu,  lifting  his  sightless  eyes  up 
ward.  "In  his  own  time,  in  his  own  way,  he 
will  speak  forth." 

And  something  in  his  air  of  quiet  certainty 
checked  the  speech  on  Sing  Foo's  evil  lips. 

Gradually  the  obsession  of  Sing  Foo  for  the 
[215] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

gold-lacquered  box  and  Gwenny's  young  sweet 
ness  deepened  into  an  intensity  haunting  his 
dreams,  and  into  the  murky  depths  of  his  eyes, 
watching  the  thin  sleeves  clinging  to  Gwenny's 
lovely  arms  and  shoulders,  came  a  dancing 
flame. 

"You  plitty  gurl!"  he  cooed  once  ingratiat 
ingly  in  the  pidgin  English  he  affected,  when 
she  stopped  in,  demanding  Sing  Lu,  only  to  find 
him  out  on  one  of  his  aimless  excursions. 

"Velly  plitty  gurl!  Plitty  gurl  like  you  glet 
plitty,  plitty  things  .  .  . "  he  continued,  expres 
sionless  eyes  tracing  the  curve  of  white  throat 
to  where  it  was  enveloped  in  concealing  cloth. 

"Swell  chance!"  retorted  Gwenny  indiffer 
ently.  "An'  I'm  perticklar  where  I  get  pretty 
things  from — see?" 

Sing  Foo  ventured  the  familiarity  of  a  puffy 
yellow  hand  laid  upon  Gwenny's  round  white 
arm.  "You  velly  plitty  gurl,"  he  persisted  in 
his  soft  guttural  voice,  unwinking  eyes  upon 
her  flushed  face. 

"Cut  it!"  ordered  Gwenny  belligerently. 
"An*  wot's  more,  yer  can  cut  out  the  sticky 
looks  yer  keeps  givin*  me.  I  ain't  got  no  use 
fer  them." 

"You  mally  with  me?"  suggested  Sing  Foo' 
surprisingly. 

[216] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Me  marry  with,  you?"  Gwenny  threw  back 
her  head,  exposing  the  soft  white  of  her  throat, 
laughing  so  that  the  scarlet  roof  of  her  mouth 
and  sound  white  teeth  gleamed  at  the  watching 
Sing  Foo.  "Me  take  up  with  a  fat,  ole  yeller 
Chink?  Ye 're  crazy,  Sing  Poo,  clean  crazy!" 

With  a  final  shrug  of  contempt,  she  switched 
away  in  her  superb  young  strength,  stopping  in 
the  doorway  for  a  last  shot  at  Sing  Foo. 
"Blamed  if  I  c'n  swallow  as  ye 're  really  a 
brother  o'  Sing  Lu!"  she  called  back  angrily. 
"Yer  great,  fat,  lazy,  cheatin'  Chink!" 

1  < To-day  you  laugh,  Little  White  Moth!" 
snarled  Sing  Foo  behind  her  in  Chinese,  spit 
ting  his  words  through  clenched  yellow  teeth. 
' '  And  yet — who  knows  ?  Perhaps  some  day  the 
Little  White  Moth  will  flutter  too  near  a  flame 
and  to  Sing  Foo  will  be  given  a  chance  to  laugh. 
And  on  that  day  Sing  Foo  will  laugh  long  and 
loudly.  But  you,  0  Little  White  Moth,  on  that 
day  you  will  not  laugh!" 

And  then  for  Sing  Lu  came  that  hour  which 
comes  to  spiritual  and  actual  fathers  alike,  in 
which  the  forming  of  new  ties  overshadows  the 
old  completely. 

As  he  had  prophesied,  Gwenny  fell  in  love. 

"  Yer  said  it  yerself,  Sing,"  she  acknowledged 
[217] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

humbly,  sitting  down  beside  him,  bright  head 
resting  on  his  thin  knee.  "It's  the  way  o'  life 
fer  trees  ter  bud;  fer  flowers  ter  bloom;  an' 
fer  a  woman  ter  love!  Yer  said  it  all." 

Stoically  Sing  Lu  smoothed  her  bright  curls. 
"Yes!" 

And  Gwenny  told  her  story — told  it  with  the 
humility  of  one  passing  through  a  totally  new 
and  upsetting  experience. 

"I  didn't  think  as  how  I'd  ever  be  carin' 
about  a  man — me  knowin'  wot  it  means  fer  a 
woman,"  she  said  tearfully.  "But  when  it 
comes,  it  comes.  There  was  I,  walkin'  down 
the  water  road,  an',  comin'  from  the  other  way, 
this  sailor  chap.  An'  he  stops  short  when  he 
comes  alongside  o'  me,  an'  I  stopped  with  my 
silly  heart  feelin'  like  a  lot  o'  little  birds  had 
sorter  burst  inter  song.  An'  fer  a  time  we 
stood  an'  looked,  each  at  the  other,  an'  I  didn't 
know  him  an'  he  didn't  know  me,  an'  yet,  some 
how,  it  was  as  if  we  'd  known  each  other  always, 
an'  been  waitin'  fer  just  this  thing  ter  happen. 
An'  he  speaks  up  an'  says  ter  me,  bold-like  an* 
still  not  impudent:  'I'll  be  walkin'  along  o* 
you,  Sweetness!' 

"An'  I  looks  up  inter  his  eyes  an'  wot  I  saw 
there  I  don't  know,  but  in  that  minute  I  wants 
ter  walk  along  o '  him  worse  than  I  ever  wanted 
[218] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

anythin'  before.  So  I  gives  a  silly,  happy-like 
laugh,  an'  we  walks  off  together  with  the  sky 
bluer  an'  the  grass  greener,  an'  the  sun 
brighter  than  ever  before.  An'  that  was  the 
beginnin'  o'  it  .  .  ." 

"That  ..."  agreed  Sing  Lu  absently 
".  .  .  is  the  beginning  of  love,  Little  Flower. 
Between  man  and  woman  in  the  first  meeting 
exists  either  indifference  or  that  attraction 
which  is  the  beginning  of  love."  There  was 
in  his  tone  something  of  the  mellowness  of  an 
ancient  temple  bell  overlaid  with  the  bronzed 
patina  of  ages,  subtly  blended  with  the  poignant 
ache  of  relinquishment.  *  *  And  now  you  will  no 
longer  need  Sing  Lu,"  he  finished  dully. 

Always  he  had  known  that  some  day  he  would 
be  superseded  in  Gwenny's  heart,  yet  knowl 
edge  that  the  time  had  come  was  hard  to  bear. 
He  had  so  little  in  that  world  of  shadows  which 
surrounded  him.  If  perhaps  he  had  made  use 
of  his  influence  with  her,  had  traded  upon 
her  gratitude  .  .  .  Abruptly  he  checked  the 
thought.  What  had  a  yellow  man  to  do  with 
this  child  of  the  sun? 

"Need  yer?"  repeated  the  puzzled  Gwenny. 
"But  o'  course  I'll  be  needin'  yer  just  the  same, 
Sing.  Wotever  made  yer  think  I  wouldn't?" 

Sing  Lu  smiled  wisely.  "From  now  on  the 
[219] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

pleasure  of  guiding  your  footsteps  will  belong 
to  this  man  of  your  heart, ' '  he  said,  hating  him 
self  for  the  stab  of  jealousy  which  shot  through 
him. 

"But  there's  room  in  plenty  in  my  heart  fer 
both  o'  yer!"  protested  Gwenny  in  hurt  sur 
prise. 

After  she  had  gone,  for  just  one  moment  of 
weakness  Sing  Lu  dropped  his  face  into  his 
thin  yellow  hands.  * '  It  is  hard ! "  he  said  aloud. 

From  the  rear  of  the  store  the  spying  Sing 
Foo  jeered  at  him.  "Only  to  a  man  of  strength 
is  given  his  desire,  0  My  Brother!" 

"Be  silent!"  commanded  Sing  Lu.  "It  is 
not  given  to  you  to  understand,  0  Son  of  Evil, 
that  love  to  which  only  the  pure  in  heart  can 
attain. ' ' 

And  when,  some  few  days  later,  Gwenny  flut 
tered  into  the  store  all  aglow  with  happiness, 
he  had  his  jealousy  well  under  control. 

"See!"  she  said  breathlessly  to  Sing  Lu. 
"Feel  my  ring,  Sing  Lu?  I'm  married;  mar 
ried  by  a  rector  in  a  frock  an'  all.  He  wanted 
it  that  way  ..."  A  pause,  her  fingers  twist 
ing  in  mute  agony  of  separation.  "An'  now 
he's  gone  away;  his  ship  sailed  ter-day.  0* 
course  he'll  be  comin'  back,  Sing,  but  I  can't 
believe  as  how  it'll  ever  be  just  the  same  again. 
[220] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Nothing  like  that  could  last,  'cause  if  it  did, 
this'd  be  heaven,  not  earth.  No  ..."  he'll  be 
comin'  back  an'  maybe  a  time '11  come  when  it'll 
be  fer  us  just  as  it  is  fer  all  the  others — the 
quarrelin'  an'  the  ugliness.  But  that  won't  stop 
me  from  carin'.  I  couldn't  stop  if  I  wanted 
to !"  Her  voice  melted  into  wistfulness.  ''Four 
months  ter  wait  afore  he  comes  back,  an'  four 
months  is  a  cruel  long  time,  Sing." 

" Yes,"  agreed  Sing  Lu  quietly,  sightless  eyes 
turned  straight  before  him.  "Four  months  can 
be  a  very  long  time,  Little  Flower." 

In  the  months  which  followed  he  was  the  old 
Sing  Lu,  kind,  thoughtful,  filled  with  gentle 
sympathy  and  understanding,  listening  gravely 
to  the  flood  of  joyous  confidence  Gwenny 
poured  upon  him.  Every  sentence  she  began 
turned  in  the  direction  of  her  man  before  she 
had  finished  it.  Endlessly  she  talked  of  him, 
and  endlessly  Sing  Lu  listened. 

He  was  on  the  landing  pier  with  Gwenny,  at 
Gwenny 's  urgent  request,  the  day  the  Mary  B 
landed  four  months  later. 

"I  wants  you  two  ter  know  each  other,"  she 
explained  wistfully.  "Bern*  as  how  yer  both 
mean  so  much  ter  me." 

And  Sing  Lu,  wondering  if  the  charity  and 
[221] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

understanding  of  the  other  man  would  cover 
the  difference  in  color  and  caste,  had  consented. 

"I  don't  see  him,"  complained  Gwenny,  her 
soft  hair  blowing  in  the  breeze,  her  cheeks  pink 
with  excitement.  "  Seems  as  how  he  oughter 
be  at  the  rail  wavin'  ter  me." 

Then,  with  a  swift  pang  of  foreboding, 
"Maybe  something  happened!" 

1  i  Has  not  love  wings  with  which  to  shield  the 
beloved?"  comforted  Sing. 

"Look "  cried  Gwenny,  unheeding. 

"They're  a-helpin'  some  one  up  ter  the  rail. 
Why,  it's  Mm!"  She  gripped  Sing  Lu  with 
agonized  fingers.  "Wotever  did  they  do  ter 
him — he's  white  as  paper,  with  his  eyes  sunk 
'way  back  in  his  head.  Here  I  am,  Darlin'  " — 
waving  frantically,  choking  back  the  sob  tight 
ening  her  throat.  "Waitin'  fer  yer  just  as  I 
said  I  'd  be.  Here  I  am ! ' '  Her  voice  died  away 
in  a  whisper  of  dread.  "Sing — he's  sick. 
They're  a-helpin '  him  down  the  gangplank. 
He  looks — why,  he  looks  like  he's  a-dyin'!" 

With  a  rush  she  was  gone,  and  not  until  hours 
later  did  she  remember  that  she  had  left  Sing 
Lu  alone  to  find  his  way  back  through  the  per 
petual  darkness  surrounding  him.  Then  she 
hurried  to  him  on  penitent  feet. 

"Sing!"  she  cried  remorsefully,  finding  him 
[222] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

sitting  patiently  behind  piles  of  golden  oranges 
and  yellow  bananas.  "I  don't  know  how  I  ever 
left  yer  exceptin'  I  was  so  upset  seem'  him  so 
white  an'  all  .  .  ." 

"Where  the  heart  calls,  the  feet  must  re 
spond,  ' '  agreed  Sing  Lu.  Then :  '  *  He  is  ill  ?  " 
he  inquired  with  gentle  sympathy. 

A  silence. 

Sing  Lu  repeated  his  question.    "He  is  ill  I" 

And  then  the  news  came  out  in  a  gasping 
flood  of  anguish.  "He's  goin'  ter  die!"  cried 
Gwenny  despairingly.  "He's  had  fever  an'  his 
lungs  are  all  wrong. ' '  A  pause.  '  *  I  had  a  doc 
tor,  one  wot  costs  a  guinea  a  visit,  an'  he  says 
as  how  if  I  don't  get  him  where  it's  always 
warm  an'  dry  he  won't  pull  through — my 
Dick!"  Tears  streaked  her  rounded  cheeks, 
her  voice  quivered.  "Does  seem  like  with  so 
many  men  in  this  old  world,  it  needn't  a-been 
him,  don 'tit,  Sing?" 

"But  he  has  a  chance,"  encouraged  Sing  Lu. 

"Not  him!"  denied  Gwenny.  "We've  no 
money  an'  it  takes  money  fer  two  people  ter  go 
where  it's  warm  an'  balmy  an'  spend  a  year 
doin'  nothin'." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Sing  Lu  poignantly.    One 
short    year    before    he    could    have     solved 
Gwenny 's  problem.    But  now  .  .  . 
[223] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Gwenny  sensed  his  worry.  " Don't  go  brood- 
in'  over  it,  Ole  Yeller  Sweetness,"  she  reas 
sured  gallantly.  "It  fair  struck  me  in  a  heap, 
happenin'  so  sudden-like.  But  I'll  find  some 
way — only  it's  got  ter  be  some  way  I  can  get 
it  in  a  hurry." 

In  his  own  mind  Sing  Lu  was  considering  the 
problem.  "All  I  have  left  is  the  gold  lacquered 
box,"  he  reflected.  "Yet  even  that,  if  it  would 
suffice,  I  would  sacrifice." 

Eising  carefully,  he  patted  Gwenny  on  one 
square  shoulder.  "Perhaps  to  a  blind  man  will 
be  granted  the  privilege  of  doing  an  act  of 
mercy. ' ' 

"Don't  worrit  yerself,"  bade  Gwenny  affec 
tionately. 

But  she  sat  on  in  the  little  shop  pleasantly 
filled  with  the  fragrance  of  ripe  fruit,  and  pres 
ently  Sing  Poo  came  from  the  rear  of  the  store, 
sly  eyes  straying  to  where  Gwenny  sat  deep  in 
thought. 

"You  like  see  something  plitty?"  he  called. 

"It's  you!"  greeted  Gwenny  without  enthu 
siasm. 

"You  like  see  something  plitty?"  repeated 
Sing  Foo  stubbornly. 

Indifferently  Gwenny  leaned  against  the 
counter.  "Wot  bloomin'  nonsense  is  it  now?" 
[224] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Sing  Foo  held  out  a  circlet  of  gold  gleaming 
with  light. 

"Gold  an'  diamonds!"  gasped  Gwenny  in 
awe,  a  veritable  hunger  in  her  tone.  * '  Where  'd 
yer  get  it,  Sing  Foo?" 

"You  plitty  gurl  ..."  purred  Sing  Foo. 
"You  like  blacelet?" 

He  waited,  beady  eyes  upon  her  face. 

"Yer  sneakin',  yeller  devil!"  gasped 
Gwenny.  "Yer  heard  wot  I  said  ter  Sing!" 

*  *  You  plitty  gurl  ..."  repeated  Sing  Foo  in 
his  slurring  accents  with  a  sinister  gentleness, 
turning  the  bracelet  between  his  fat  hands  so 
light  shot  from  it  in  blue  and  white  sparks. 

"It  must  ...  be  worth  a  heap!"  stammered 
Gwenny  longingly. 

Tantalizingly  Sing  Foo  turned  the  bracelet 
again,  and,  watching  the  blaze  of  gems,  to 
Gwenny  came  a  picture  of  a  white  face  with 
sunken  cheeks,  and  the  sound  of  an  incessant 
cough  racking  a  broad  chest.  Gold  and  dia 
monds! 

"I  said  as  how  I'd  do  anythin'  ter  save  him!" 
she  whispered  pitifully  to  herself  in  what  was 
almost  a  prayer.  "But  this — no,  my  man'd 
rather  die  than  be  saved  like  this!  It'd  be 
better  f er  him  ter  die  than  be  saved  like  this ! 
I — I  couldn't  go  back  an*  face  him." 
[225] 


Anger  began  to  beat  through  her  in  a  still 
white  flame.  She  turned  upon  Sing  Foo,  throw 
ing  words  at  him  with  the  effect  of  hurling 
missiles. 

"You — yer  sneakin',  yeller  devil!  I  knows 
yer  game.  Allers  a-sneakin'  around  waitin'  an' 
waitin'  fer  yer  chance.  An'  now  yer  thinks  as 
how  yer  got  me — only  yer  ain  't.  For  I  'm  tellin ' 
yer  there's  things  higher  than  life  itself.  Sing 
Lu,  yer  own  brother,  taught  me  that  in  the 
days  when  I  was  a  hungry  little  shaver  wantin' 
food  worse  than  I  ever  thought  as  how  I  'd  want 
anythin'  again!" 

Indifferently  Sing  Foo  turned  the  bracelet. 
"To-night  I  leave  the  back  door  to  my  shop 
open,"  he  stated  calmly.  "You  want  blacelet, 
you  come  in  back  door  to-night." 

"I  ain't  a-comin'!"  shrieked  Grwenny  furi 
ously.  "I  ain't  .  .  .  ain't." 

Whirling,  she  disappeared  through  the  door, 
before  her  tormented  eyes  the  picture  of  a  blaz 
ing  circlet  of  light  jostling  that  pitiful  image 
of  smitten  strength. 

Behind  her  Sing  Foo  smiled  wickedly.     * '  She 

will  come  back,"  he  said  with  calm  certainty. 

"Yes,  undoubtedly   she  will  come   back,   this 

little  white  moth  fluttering  toward  the  flame. 

[226] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

And  then — "  his  face  set  in  lines  of  cruelty. 
"Then  shall  this  little  white  moth  discover  the 
scorching  heat  of  flame!" 

Appreciatively  he  regarded  the  bracelet. 
"Imitation  gold  glitters  bravely,"  he  chuckled. 
"And  sham  diamonds  blaze  brightly.  Truly 
in  all  things  am  I,  Sing  Foo,  an  excellent  man 
of  business!" 

A  pause  while  he  rubbed  his  hands  in  satis 
faction.  ' '  This  undoubtedly  is  to  be  for  me  an 
auspicious  day,"  he  reflected  aloud.  "And 
since  this  day  is  to  see  the  realization  of  one  of 
my  twin  desires,  shall  I  not  also  realize  the 
other?"  Greedily  his  thoughts  fastened  upon 
the  image  of  the  gold  lacquered  box. 

"Long  have  I  desired  this  box  of  gold  until 
desire  runs  like  a  flame  in  my  veins,"  he  mut 
tered.  "Shall  I  longer  deny  this  consuming 
hunger?" 

"Whereupon  he  conferred  with  Loo  Hong,  a 
villainous  associate  deriving  his  living  from 
dubious  sources. 

"Many  years  have  I  desired  the  gold  lac 
quered  box  containing  the  guardian  of  the  Sing 
fortunes,"  he  explained  over  a  tumbler  of  rice 
whiskey  flavored  with  ginger.  "And  long  has 
my  brother  possessed  it.  Regrettably  he  seems 
[227] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

endowed  with  everlasting  life  by  possession  of 
the  box.  Could  that  life  be  shortened  it  would 
be  worth  much  money  to  me. ' ' 

"A  worthy  thought!"  smirked  the  lean  and 
hungry  Loo  Hong,  "  which  shall  be  rewarded 
by  a  most  unique  taking  away  of  this  annoying 
brother — a  taking  away  which  shall  come  as  a 
delightful  surprise  to  your  august  self."  A 
pause.  "Where  keeps  your  worthy  brother 
this  box  of  gold?"  inquired  Loo  Hong  softly. 

Sing  Foo  hesitated  cannily.  "The  box  of 
gold  with  the  porcelain  fish  protects  only  the 
fortunes  of  the  Sing  family,"  he  remarked 
warily. 

"Indeed  so!"  agreed  Loo  Hong,  hiding  a 
smile.  "To  my  family  the  possession  of  a 
porcelain  fish  would  be  most  unfortunate,  only 
creatures  of  the  air  possessing  friendly  in 
fluence." 

"The  box,"  said  Sing  Foo,  reassured,  "is 
kept  in  a  chest  of  camphor-wood  to  which  my 
brother  carries  the  key. ' ' 

"Keys  can  be  duplicated,"  assured  Loo 
Hong.  "I  have  in  my  possession  keys  of  great 
number,  at  times  most  useful  to  me." 

With  mutual  compliments  they  separated, 
Sing  Foo  returning  to.  his  shop. 

"On  this  day,"  he  murmured  to  himself, 
[228] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

picking  his  way  carefully  over  mud  puddles  and 
once  over  the  rotting  carcase  of  a  long  deceased 
dog,  "will  I  realize  my  twin  desires,  pos 
session  of  the  box  of  gold  and  of  that  flower  my 
brother  has  reared  in  all  sweetness." 

Standing  without  his  door,  he  pondered 
deeply.  "Are  the  good  rewarded  with  their 
just  deserts?"  he  questioned  contemptuously. 
"Not  so!  To  my  brother  has  come  only 
poverty,  blindness,  love  denied,  and  now  loss  of 
the  gold  lacquered  box  and  of  life  itself! 
Whereas  to  me,  his  unworthy  brother,  has  come 
possession  of  riches  and  will  come  the  gold  box 
and  this  bud  of  an  alien  race.  Wherefore  are 
the  teachings  of  the  Lord  Gautama  Buddha 
gentle  tales  suited  to  children  and  the  weak, 
and  not  to  a  man  of  strength  like  myself ! ' ' 

Snapping  his  fingers  contemptuously,  he  un 
locked  the  door,  spitting  at  the  image  of 
Buddha,  installed  by  Sing  Lu  on  a  shelf  at  the 
rear  of  the  shop,  before  he  seated  himself  com 
fortably  with  pipe  and  tiny  lamp. 

"AM!"  he  purred,  twisting  an  opium  needle 
in  the  treacly  black  mass  until  a  tiny  bead  ad 
hered  to  its  tip,  and  transferring  it  to  the  tiny 
blue  flame.  "Flowers  will  I  place  in  her  un 
bound  hair.  And  jewels  around  her  slim  white 
neck,  even  upon  her  soft  white  toes."  Opales- 
[229] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

cent  smoke  rolled  away  from  the  fizzing  bead 
upon  the  needle.  "Once  this  little  white  moth 
laughed  at  Sing  Foo,  yet  to-night,  in  spite  of 
the  many  gifts  I  shall  heap  upon  her,  the  little 
white  moth  will  not  laugh.  Yet  I,  Sing  Foo, 
will  laugh  until  I  am  drunken  with  the  wine  of 
laughter ! ' ' 

He  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  the 
abrupt  entrance  of  Sing  Lu. 

' '  State  thy  business  and  begone,  0  Crawling 
Worm!"  he  commanded  haughtily.  "For  to 
night  I  myself  have  business  of  importance  to 
do  with  this  bud  of  another  race  which  you  have 
reared  into  beauty. " 

"I  come  upon  a  matter  of  business,"  stated 
Sing  Lu,  producing  the  gold  lacquered  box 
from  his  sleeve.  "Yet  I  warn  you,  0  Creep 
ing  Slime,  that  a  tower  of  evil  reared  to  a  cer 
tain  point  topples  to  a  fall.  And  whoso  at 
tempts  to  destroy  what  is  altogether  good  is 
himself  destroyed.  Moreover  .  .  .  where  I 
have  obeyed  the  teachings  of  the  Lord  Buddha 
in  all  things,  permitting  you  to  thrive  un 
molested  in  all  your  wickedness,  yet  harm  so 
much  as  one  hair  of  this  little  daughter  of  my 
spirit,  and  on  that  day  will  I,  Sing  Lu,  lift  my 
hand  against  you  in  settlement!" 
[230] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Your  words  are  full  of  power — not  so  your 
hands!"  sneered  Sing  Foo.  "Wherefore  I 
fear  not.  State  the  business  which  brings  you 
here  and  begone!" 

"For  five  hundred  pounds  English  will  I  give 
to  you  the  box  of  gold." 

Sing  Foo  blinked  in  astonishment.  "For 
five  hundred  pounds  you  will  sell  the  good  for 
tune  of  the  Sing  family?"  he  inquired  ironi 
cally. 

"Even  so,"  assented  Sing  Lu. 

Sing  Foo  hesitated  thriftily.  He  had  al 
ready  paid  out  a  sum  which  would  insure  him 
possession  of  the  box  and  riddance  of  this  hated 
brother,  why  squander  a  further  sum? 

"I  no  longer  desire  the  box,"  he  stated  com 
placently,  his  hands  twitching  with  eagerness 
to  hold  it  in  their  grasp. 

"Then,"  said  Sing  Lu,  turning  away,  "it 
remains  for  me  to  find  another  purchaser. " 

"Wait!"  commanded  Sing  Foo  hastily,  per 
plexed  over  this  new  angle  of  the  problem. 
Did  Sing  Lu  dispose  of  the  box  the  sum  paid 
for  his  taking  away  would  be  wasted.  Like 
wise  it  would  be  necessary  to  arrange  for  the 
killing  of  the  new  possessor  of  the  box,  which 
might  be  troublesome  and  expensive  and  bring 
[231] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

upon  him  the  vengeance  of  a  rival  tong.  If  he 
paid  the  five  hundred  pounds  to  Sing  Lu  soon 
— very  soon — he  would  regain  it. 

* 1 1  will  give  you  the  fi  vex  hundred  pounds, ' ' 
he  decided  abruptly. 

''Counted  out  in  gold,"  stipulated  Sing  Lu. 

"Even  so,"  agreed  Sing  Foo  wryly.  Going 
to  his  safe,  he  produced  a  clinking  sack  of  gold, 
counting  out  the  money  carefully. 

Sing  Lu  himself  counted  the  gold  with 
slender,  sensitive  fingers,  weighing  each  coin  in 
his  thin  palm. 

"It  is  correct,"  he  pronounced  at  last,  pro 
ducing  a  square  of  strong  silk  and  tying  it  up. 

"The  box!"  cried  Sing  Foo  in  a  smothered 
voice.  "The  gold  lacquered  box  with  the  por 
celain  fish ! ' ' 

Sing  Lu  passed  it  over  with  something  of 
sadness.  "  It  is  here. ' ' 

"Begone!"  cried  Sing  Foo  furiously,  his 
greedy  hands  closing  upon  their  prey.  "And 
be  assured  that  when  worms  are  feasting  upon 
thy  hated  body  I  will  not  even  afford  the  char 
ity  of  a  rented  grave !" 

The  sightless  eyes  of  Sing  Lu  strained  at  him 

from   the    doorway.     "In    all    things    have    I 

obeyed  the  teachings  of  the  Lord  Buddha,"  he 

reflected  aloud  wistfully.    "I  have  not  borne 

[232] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

malice.  I  have  tried  to  do  and  think  only  good 
things  where  many  times  it  has  been  diffi 
cult  .  .  ."  he  sighed.  "Yet  do  I  believe  that 
in  his  own  good  time  the  Lord  Buddha  will 
speak.  For  truly  if  such  a  plant  of  wickedness 
be  permitted  to  nourish,  then  wherefore  is  good 
good  and  evil  evil?" 

"Begone!"  hissed  Sing  Foo,  livid  with  rage. 

Alone,  he  raised  the  box  to  his  cheek,  delight 
ing  in  physical  contact  with  its  metallic  smooth 
ness,  crooning  to  it  as  if  it  were  alive. 

"Mine  .  .  .  mine!"  sighed  Sing  Foo  in 
ecstasy  of  possession. 

Presently,  his  exultant  mood  calming,  he 
lowered  the  box,  opening  it  with  eager  fingers 
and  thrusting  in  a  greedy  hand  for  the  porce 
lain  fish. 

And  of  a  sudden  that  groping  hand  ceased. 
A  look  of  horror  and  surprise  crossed  his  suf 
fused  face.  A  shriek  of  imprecation  burst 
from  his  sagging  lips  as  he  remembered  Loo 
Hong,  his  sly  inquiry  regarding  the  where 
abouts  of  the  gold  box,  and  his  promise  of  a  de 
lightful  surprise. 

"Fool!"  shrieked  Sing  Foo  in  loud  Chinese. 
"Fool!  Blunderer!  Goat  with  tine  Brain  of 
an  Ass!" 

Surprisingly  he  slithered  down  to  the  floor 
[233] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

and  from  his  very  inertness  it  was  evident  life 
had  fled. 

Then  from  the  half  open  box  lying  just  be 
yond  one  black  and  swollen  hand  a  sliding,  shin 
ing  something  emerged,  skimmed  the  floor  in 
swift  flight,  and  vanished  through  the  unlatched 
door,  seeking  vainly  a  refuge  of  shrubbery 
similar  to  that  of  its  native  land  . 


[234] 


A  PRINCE   OF   CHINA 


IN  the  very  beginning  the  lives  of  Chang 
Tung,  born  to  the  splendor  of  a  Manchu's 
palace  in  the  Forbidden  City,  and  of  Chin 
Yuen,  growing  into  beauty  and  grace  in  the 
countryside  of  Canton,  and  of  the  evil  Li 
Chong,  spawned  on  a  sampan  in  the  crowded 
harbor  of  Shanghai,  lay  far  apart. 

Never  in  those  first  radiant  days  could  Chang 
Tung,  first-born  of  a  mighty  Prince,  have  fore 
seen  that  his  glory  would  vanish,  obscured  by 
clouds  of  disgrace,  and  that  for  him  the  high 
point  of  his  life  would  come  in  Li  Chong 's 
Palace  of  Heavenly  Entertainment  in  far  off 
Melbourne,  when  his  slow  descent  into  degra 
dation  would  be  arrested  by  the  love  of  a  slave 
girl  and  he  himself  thrust  upward  again  into 
dignity  and  honor. 

Nor  could  Chin  Yuen,  the  slave  girl,  have 
foreseen  in  the  happy  days  when,  from  sheer 
lighthearted  gayety,  she  danced  upon  a  carpet 
of  cherrybloom  in  the  courtyard  of  her  many- 
eaved  home,  that  the  father  who  had  been  all 
kindness  and  love  would  change  to  a  wasted 
[237] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

severity  sacrificing  Ms  well  loved  daughter  to  a 
further  procuring  of  the  opium  which  deadened 
him  to  all  ties  of  honor  and  affection;  or  that 
she  would  one  day  dance,  less  lightheartedly, 
for  the  avid-eyed  frequenters  of  that  same 
palace  of  Li  Chong. 

Not  even  Li  Chong  himself,  greasing  his  body 
and  sticking  his  queue  full  of  needles  to  lend  a 
degree  of  safety  to  his  profession  of  thief,  had 
any  idea  that  he  would  one  day  be  rich  and 
powerful  by  reason  of  a  less  venturesome  thiev 
ing,  or  that  he  would  hold  in  his  power  a  prince 
of  the  race  which  scorned  him. 

Yet  these  things  were  to  be:  In  the  gam 
bling  palace  of  Li  Chong  these  three  lives  so 
widely  separated  by  circumstances  of  birth 
were  to  run  briefly  parallel,  brought  together 
by  the  working  out  of  destiny,  and  becoming  in 
the  end  inextricably  snarled,  only  that  of 
Chang  Tung  the  Manchu  emerging  clear  and 
free.  .  .  . 

Li  Chong  of  Shanghai  came,  in  the  beginning, 
of  the  lowest  strata  of  society.  His  mother 
was  a  river  girl  of  Shanghai,  than  which  there 
is  no  greater  depth  of  degradation.  Spawned 
as  casually  as  one  of  a  litter  of  pigs  in  the  tiny 
sampan,  reeking  with  filth,  which  she  plied  back 
[238] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

and  forth  in  the  crowded  harbor,  his  arrival 
presented  a  problem  demanding  immediate  so 
lution,  maternity  failing  to  appeal  either  to  her 
sentiment  or  to  the  economic  conditions  under 
which  she  existed. 

Wherefore,  as  indifferently  as  if  he  had  really 
been  one  of  a  litter  of  little  pigs,  perhaps  more 
so,  since  pigs  have  a  distinct  value,  she  spurned 
him  forth  to  shift  for  himself  almost  before  his 
eyes  were  open.  Had  he  been  a  girl,  those 
carts  creaking  down  the  twisted  streets  of 
Shanghai  before  dawn  would  have  added  one 
more  to  the  tiny  bodies  which  were  their 
freight.  As  it  was,  his  sex  secured  him  a 
temporary  delay.  The  protesting  infant, 
shrieking  lustily  against  the  discomfort  of  the 
chill  air,  was  set  adrift  in  a  leaky  old  tub,  far 
ing  forth  into  the  darkness  like  some  weird  ship 
seeking  adventure,  bumping  against  various 
objects  in  the  cluttered  harbor  as  it  went. 

Among  other  things  the  tub  collided  with  the 
sampan  of  a  solitary  boatman,  who  threw  up 
his  hands  in  amaze. 

"So  little  and  so  angry!"  he  marveled. 
'  *  Truly  the  evil  spirits  will  be  attracted  by  the 
bleating  of  this  young  goat.  And  if  I  refuse 
aid,  who  knows  but  they  will  levy  toll  from  me, 
already  most  unfortunate!" 
[239] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Whereupon  lie  lifted  the  shrieking  child  to 
his  arms,  with  the  gratifying  result  that  the 
crying  ceased  immediately,  the  hungry  infant 
nuzzling  the  hand  which  held  it. 

"Ahi!  what  a  greedy  one!"  shouted  the  boat 
man  jovially.  "Another  hungry  mouth  to 
feed,  eh?" 

Prudently  he  thought  of  his  wife  and  of  the 
girl  child  he  had  disposed  of  without  loss  of 
time  in  his  rage  and  disappointment  at  the  non- 
arrival  of  the  long  desired  son  to  worship  at  his 
grave. 

11  Where  there  is  food  without  cost  shall  the 
hungry  not  be  fed?"  he  inquired  cannily,  re 
garding  the  child  which  had  fallen  asleep  from 
sheer  exhaustion.  "And,  moreover,  where  the 
feeding  of  a  useless  girl  child  may  be  extrava 
gance  for  a  poor  man,  yet  is  the  rearing  of  a 
son  entirely  a  different  matter." 

To  his  wife  an  hour  later  he  remarked 
briefly : 

"The  gods  which  denied  me  a  son  have  re 
lented.  Here  then  is  our  son." 

"But  this  little  monster  has  the  face  of  a 
pig ! '  *  protested  his  wife,  shrinking  back. 

"The  little  pig  is  hungry;  feed  it,"  com 
manded  the  boatman  roughly.  "And  let  not 
[240] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

the  mother  of  a  girl  child  be  over  ready  to  find 
fault  with  the  son  the  gods  have  sent. ' ' 

Reluctantly  the  woman  took  the  strange  child 
to  her  breast.  "Yet  has  this  child  the  face  of 
a  pig,"  she  insisted  rebelliously. 

Perhaps  to  the  boatman's  wife  in  that  mo 
ment  was  given  some  prevision  of  the  qualities 
Li  Chong  would  later  develop,  for  ill  did  he  re 
pay  his  rescuer,  cracking  the  skull  of  his  foster 
father  in  his  fourteenth  year  and  escaping  with 
the  meager  handful  of  Chinese  silver  he  reaped 
by  that  murderous  act. 

' '  Shall  three  mouths  be  given  food  where  only 
one  need  be  fed?"  he  had  reasoned  callously, 
reflecting  upon  the  feebleness  with  which  age 
and  poor  living  had  endowed  the  boatman  and 
his  wife.  "Not  so!'7 

After  devious  wanderings  and  deeds,  which, 
once  discovered,  would  have  hung  him  by  the 
head  in  a  criminal's  cage  to  hang  until  he  was 
dead,  he  found  his  way  to  a  land  supervised  by 
the  more  merciful  justice  of  an  alien  govern 
ment.  And  here,  as  proprietor  of  the  gambling 
house,  he  waxed  rich  and  powerful. 

In  years  gone  by  Li  Chong 's  Palace  of 
Heavenly  Entertainment  stood  upon  that  cor 
ner  of  the  Chinese  quarter  of  Melbourne  where 
[241] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

lean,  black-sateen-smocked  workers  now  thump 
heavy  irons  until  far  into  the  night. 

Gone  are  the  famous  underground  rooms 
fitted  out  in  gorgeous  furnishings  of  carved 
teakwood  in  red  and  ebony,  the  amazingly  thick 
rugs  blending  faded  tones  of  rare  old  blue  and 
purple  and  rose.  Gone  are  Chang  Tung  the 
Manchu,  who  played  upon  his  silver  flute,  and 
Chin  Yuen  with  her  quaint  posturing  dances 
and  small  wistful  face.  Even  Li  Chong  him 
self  is  gone  since  that  day  when,  looking  up 
from  the  abacus  on  which  he  was  counting  with 
greedy  fingers,  he  saw,  looming  large  above 
him,  the  tall  presence  of  Chang  Tung  the 
Manchu,  and,  seeing  the  implacable  purpose  in 
those  glittering  eyes  above  him,  recognized  his 
doom  in  the  half  second  before  the  curved  steel 
of  Chang  Tung's  knife  left  a  fast  widening 
smear  of  jetting  crimson  across  his  lean 
throat. 

To  himself  in  that  brief  instant  Li  Chong 
smiled  defiantly.  "Yet  am  I  the  victor,  0 
Heaven-Born!"  he  gasped  triumphantly.  "Be 
cause  always  you,  0  Manchu,  will  remember — 
whereas  what  is  death  but  a  forgetting?" 

In  which  he  was  entirely  right.  Chang  Tung 
the  Manchu  did  remember.  Even  after  he  had 
gone  back  to  the  Forbidden  City  of  his  youth 
[242] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

and  become  a  power  in  his  struggling  country, 
part  of  him  still  lived  in  the  gambling-rooms  of 
Li  Chong. 

Li  Chong  in  his  embroidered  satin  robes; 
Chin  Yuen  in  her  pale  blue  trousers  and  jaunty 
coat,  a  budding  lily  against  the  smooth  black 
ness  of  her  hair ;  Chin  Yuen  lying  straight  and 
stiff  and  cold,  deaf  to  his  ardor,  a  smile  of  res 
ignation  upon  her  flowerlike  mouth  .  .  .  out 
of  the  past  came  these  vivid  pictures  to  torment 
Chang  Tung  even  in  his  great  ancestral  halls. 
This  is  the  story : 

In  the  days  which  are  gone,  Li  Chong 's 
Palace  of  Heavenly  Entertainment  presented 
to  the  casual  passerby  a  deceptive  front  in  the 
guise  of  an  innocent  business  in  preserved 
fruits  and  delicacies,  embroidered  coats,  and 
carved  trifles  from  China  and  Japan. 

But  once  evening  came  and  the  heavy  green 
shutters  were  barred  and  bolted  into  place,  the 
initiate  trod  an  eager  path  to  the  back  room 
and  downward  underground  to  where  Li  Chong 
himself,  arrayed  in  heavily  embroidered  satin, 
greeted  his  paying  guests  with  the  ironic  smile 
of  one  who  earned  his  living  by  catering  to  the 
vices  of  his  fellowmen. 

And,  greeting  that  smiling  figure  with  suave 
[243] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

courtesy,  one  and  all  thrilled  to  the  presence  of 
something  subtly  menacing,  vaguely  felt  in  the 
person  of  Li  Chong,  placating  him  with  fulsome 
flattery  and  coarse  adulation  before  hastening 
to  the  tables  where  games  of  Fan  Tan,  Chai 
Mui,  and  Po  Tsze  were  in  progress  under  the 
charge  of  an  expressionless  Chinese. 

Fortunes  were  lost — seldom  won — over  the 
tables  of  Li  Chong.  At  least  a  half  dozen  men 
have  been  beggared  of  honor,  even  life  itself, 
over  those  smooth  tables.  But  always,  in  spite 
of  the  tragedies  great  and  small  which  follow 
the  hazard  of  chance,  the  tables  were  fringed 
with  crowding,  intent  yellow  faces,  for  the 
typical  Chinese  is  an  inveterate  gambler. 

Late  one  night,  turning  away  from  the 
tables,  Chang  Tung,  born  to  the  splendor  of  a 
Manchu  's  castle  in  the  far-off  land,  the  story  of 
his  fall  from  glory  presenting  an  Odyssey  only 
second  to  that  familiar  to  literature,  drew  non 
chalantly  from  his  sleeve  a  silver  flute. 

For  the  gravely  listening  Chinese  he  played 
first  a  song  soft  and  silken  as  the  texture  of 
lotus  buds  in  first  bloom,  changing  to  harsh 
and  strident  measure  lifted  from  the  battle 
chant  of  the  hill  warriors  of  China. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  looked  at  Li  Chong. 
"My  wealth  has  vanished, "  he  explained. 
[244] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Each  night  will  I  play  to  your  guests  .  .  .  for 
a  consideration/* 

And  Li  Chong,  his  lip  quirking  with  contempt 
as  his  eyes  passed  over  the  shabby  figure  con 
fronting  him,  sunken  to  the  last  depths  of  pov 
erty,  yet  betraying  in  coppery  skin  and  high- 
bridged  nose  the  irrefutable  fact  of  Manchu 
birth,  smiled  insolently. 

"For  your  playing  will  I  give  to  you  each 
night  the  equivalent  of  two  dollars  Mex,"  he 
agreed  softly,  reckoning  in  the  coinage  which 
is  the  trading  exchange  in  Shanghai,  his  native 
city.  "Surely,  to  me  who  was  born  a  coolie, 
it  is  worth  that  to  have  a  Manchu  as  my  ser 
vant.  ' ' 

In  which  he  was  quite  correct.  For  always, 
in  spite  of  his  seeming  greatness,  knowledge 
of  ignoble  birth  throbbed  just  below  the  surface 
of  his  urbanity,  flooding  his  secret  soul  with 
bitterness. 

Then,  on  another  evening  when  the  liquid 
notes  from  the  silver  flute  of  Chang  Tung 
mounted  high  in  the  smoke-filled  room,  one  Tai 
Cheung  turned  sullenly  to  Li  Chong. 

"All  that  I  possess  has  gone  to  swell  your 
wealth,  0  Great  One,"  he  announced,  "save 
only  one  thing  ..." 

"And  that?"  smiled  Li  Chong  affably. 
[245] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"A  pearl  of  beauty  which  I  have  brought 
from  Canton  for  sale  to  one  of  sufficient  wealth 
to  pay  the  price." 

The  oblique  eyes  of  Li  Chong  narrowed 
swiftly.  "Has  any  man  greater  wealth  than 
I?"  he  inquired  insolently.  "I,  Li  Chong,  will 
wager  against  this  unseen  pearl  of  beauty  any 
sum  you  name." 

"Two  thousand  pounds  English!"  cried  Tai 
Cheung  greedily. 

"Indeed!"  assented  Li  Chong.  For  just  a 
second  one  of  the  lids  veiling  his  slanting  eyes 
trembled  into  an  imperceptible  wink  toward  the 
Chinese  presiding  at  the  table. 

Shortly  afterward  Tai  Cheung  turned  away, 
furious  with  disappointment. 

"You  are — ah — satisfied?"  purred  Li  Chong. 

"Entirely  so,"  acquiesced  Tai  Cheung,  mur 
der  in  his  heart. 

"Then  produce  this  pearl  of  beauty,"  de 
manded  Li  Chong. 

And  when,  some  few  minutes  later,  Tai 
Cheung  returned,  leading  the  veiled  figure  of  a 
young  Chinese  girl,  drawing  away  the  veil  with 
reluctant  hand,  an  exclamation  of  gratified  sur 
prise  burst  from  Li  Chong. 

"Ah!"  said  Li  Chong,  drawing  a  great 
breath. 

[246] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

Color  flushed  the  young  face,  accustomed 
only  to  the  eyes  of  father  and  brother.  Timidly 
the  wide-apart  eyes  sought  the  floor,  as  she 
shrank  from  the  crowding,  eager  men. 

"Can  you  dance?"  inquired  Li  Chong  after 
a  second's  thought. 

"I  can  dance,  0  Great  One."  He  barely 
heard  the  timid  answer. 

"Play!"  commanded  Li  Chong  insolently  of 
the  Manchu. 

And  Chang  Tung,  lifting  his  silver  flute 
obediently,  felt  in  his  heart  the  first  stirrings 
of  pity  as  the  trembling  girl  began  a  quaint 
posturing,  using  a  fan  now  as  a  sword,  now  as 
an  instrument  of  coquetry. 

"Each  night,"  announced  Li  Chong  impor 
tantly,  "will  Chang  Tung  the  Manchu  and  Chin 
Yuen,  the  Bud  of  Beauty,  entertain  my  guests." 

From  under  the  heavy  eyelashes  of  the 
shrinking  girl,  remembering  other  dances  in 
golden  sunlight  upon  a  carpet  of  cherrybloom, 
tears  ran  down  over  her  small,  wistful  face. 

And,  seeing,  Chang  Tung  of  a  sudden  brought 
from  his  flute  the  high,  shrill  melody  with 
which  the  hill  warriors  hurl  anathema  against 
their  enemies. 

In  the  days  which  followed  they  were  two* 
[247] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

very  miserable  young  people,  Chin  Yuen 
nightly  displaying  her  fresh  young  beauty  in 
the  posturing  dances  performed  for  the  delecta 
tion  of  the  frequenters  of  Li  Chong  's  Palace  of 
Heavenly  Entertainment,  and  Chang  Tung, 
fallen  from  the  glory  of  his  high  estate  to  the 
disgrace  of  accompanying  those  same  dances 
with  the  charmed  music  extracted  by  his  supple 
yellow  fingers  from  his  silver  flute. 

Nightly  Chin  Yuen  sobbed  in  the  shelter  of 
the  friendly  darkness  in  an  anguish  of  longing 
for  the  broad  breast  of  her  mother  and  all  the 
dear  familiar  things  which  had  gone  to  make 
up  the  home  of  her  childhood:  the  flowering 
plum  tree  in  the  courtyard;  her  brothers  in 
their  gay  jackets;  the  very  tip- tilted  eaves  of 
that  home  itself  .  .  . 

Nightly  Chang  Tung,  remembering  the  life 
to  which  he  had  been  born,  writhed  beneath  the 
acid  contempt  of  his  f  ellowmen,  scorning  to  give 
outward  sign  of  the  shafts  which  pierced  his 
sensitive  pride. 

And  nightly  Li  Chong  rubbed  his  hands  with 
satisfaction  at  the  beauty  of  Chin  Yuen  and 
the  talent  of  Chang  Tung,  his  mean  soul  re 
joicing  in  this  highly  gratifying  humbling  of 
the  mighty. 

"And  you  say  your  highly  respected  father 
[248] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

was  a  Mandarin  clad  in  silken  breeches  of 
state?"  he  would  inquire  of  the  sullen  Chang 
Tung. 

"A  cousin  of  the  Yellow  Emperor!"  would 
correct  Chang  Tung  furiously. 

"And  now  you  work  for  me,  born  of  a  river 
girl  of  Shanghai!"  would  marvel  Li  Chong 
maliciously.  "Truly  the  ways  of  the  gods  are 
wonderful  to  behold." 

A  silence. 

"Yet  you  are  grateful  for  the  crumbs  which 
fall  from  my  table  of  plenty,  are  you  not, 
Dragon  Brood?"  would  inquire  Li  Chong 
softly  in  his  flat  nasal  tone.  *  *  For  truly  grati 
tude  is  a  most  admirable  emotion."  Beneath 
the  softness  of  his  voice  was  a  perceptible 
threat. 

"I  am  grateful!"  would  acknowledge  Chang 
Tung,  hating  himself  for  the  weakness  which 
overlooked  insult. 

"Yet  you  remember,  perhaps,  other  days?" 
persisted  his  tormentor. 

"I  remember  other  days,"  would  admit 
Chang  Tung,  hot  color  flaming  in  his  coppery 
skin. 

"Days  in  which,  at  the  court  of  the  Yellow 
Emperor,   you   strutted  peacockwise,   sensing, 
perhaps,  from  behind  latticed  walls,  the  admir- 
[249] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

ing  glances  of  young  buds  of  beauty?"  insisted 
Li  Chong  one  night,  winking  at  Ms  hearers. 

"Perhaps." 

A  shout  of  mirth  went  up  from  the  company 
as  they  eyed  his  rags  and  unkempt  appearance. 

"Is  he  not  sweet  scented  and  a  lover  for  any 
maid?"  demanded  Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer, 
smacking  his  lips  with  appreciation  of  his  own 
jest. 

Li  Chong  smiled  cruelly.  "Then  since  this 
is  so,"  he  suggested,  "let  us  put  it  to  a  test, 
0  Pekinese."  A  pause,  for  the  effect  of  height 
ening  suspense  for  his  eagerly  listening  audi 
ence.  Then  he  continued  smoothly:  "I  am 
wearied  of  Chin  Yuen  with  her  tears  and  lamen 
tations.  Win  her  heart  and  she  is  yours,  to 
gether  with  one  hundred  pounds  English — 
enough  to  take  you  back  to  the  Forbidden 
City." 

"And  if  I  fail?"  inquired  Chang  Tung, 
plucking  at  the  silver  strings  of  a  guitar. 
"What  then,  Eiver-Spawned?" 

'  *  Then  shall  you  work  for  me  five  years  with 
out  return,"  decided  Li  Chong  greedily. 

"Truly  a  most  liberal  proposal!"  extolled 
Sun  Yat  suavely. 

Abruptly  Chang  Tung  twanged  the  strings 
of  his  instrument,  considering  the  proposition. 
[250] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

To  refuse  meant  disavowal  of  his  own  words 
and  a  further  losing  of  face  before  these  low 
born  merchants.  To  win  .  .  .  involuntarily  his 
thoughts  went  to  the  pearl-white  face  of  Chin 
Yuen. 

"What  of  the  little  Autumn  Breeze  if  I  re 
fuse?"  he  inquired  slowly. 

Li  Chong  shrugged.  * '  Perhaps  I  will  sell  her 
to  Yoh  Kee,  who  has  offered  a  most  gratifying 
price." 

In  silence  Chang  Tung  considered,  visioning 
the  tender,  unhappy  youth  of  Chin  Yuen  in  the 
establishment  of  Yoh  Kee,  from  which,  not  in 
frequently,  under  cover  of  nightfall,  other  even 
younger  girls  had  been  carried  forth,  their  eyes 
closed  in  the  sleep  which  comes  of  a  pill  of  un 
cooked  opium. 

"I  accept  your  terms,  0  Turtle  from  Shang 
hai  ! "  he  agreed  quietly.  ' '  But  for  a  flitting  in 
the  sun  of  courtship  butterfly  raiment  must  be 
provided.  A  nightingale  in  the  plumage  of  a 
crow  will  not  be  distinguished  by  its  beauty." 

"It  shall  be  so,"  agreed  Li  Chong  unwill 
ingly,  after  due  reflection. 

Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer  considered  the  slim 
length  of  Chang  Tung  appraisingly. 

"In  brighter  plumage  this  strutting  peacock 
may  succeed, ' '  he  informed  Li  Chong  dubiously. 
[251] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Li  Chong  smiled  vaingloriously.  "Shall  a 
full-fledged  owl  of  wisdom  be  trapped  by  a 
fledgling  of  sprouting  wings?"  he  demanded. 
"When  did  the  wisdom  of  Li  Chong  ever  pro 
pound  a  riddle  without  knowledge  of  the 
answer?" 

"I  will  play  for  you,"  announced  Chang 
Tung,  lifting  his  flute  to  his  lips.  He  played 
a  song  of  old  China,  silken  sweet  and  crystal 
clear,  full  of  the  beauty  of  plum  trees  blossom 
laden  and  of  moon  magic.  Then,  his  audience 
wrapt  in  the  dreams  his  music  had  awakened, 
abruptly  he  changed  to  the  familiar  song  of  the 
hill  warriors,  loud,  crashing,  and  full  of  subtle 
insolent  challenge. 

Across  the  gulf  of  listening  faces  the  eyes  of 
Li  Chong  and  Chang  Tung  met  and  held  .  .  . 

Later,  hearing  the  familiar  sound  of  low  sob 
bing,  Li  Chong  stopped  in  the  doorway  of  Chin 
Yuen. 

"You  are  sad,  Little  Bud  of  Beauty,"  he  said 
mockingly.  "But  here  is  news  to  dry  thy  tears 
which  drip  as  unceasingly  as  spring  rain.  A 
lover  is  to  pay  court  at  your  shrine,  sweet 
scented,  garbed  royally,  and  of  glorious  an 
cestry  .  .  ."  he  paused,  studying  the  flushed, 
tremulous  face  of  Chin  Yuen.  "All  the  pleas 
ures  of  courtship  which  the  foreign  devils  enjoy 
[252J 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

shall  be  yours, "  he  continued  suavely.    "The  j 
verses,  the  gifts,  the  songs,  the  gentle  words, 

yet "  he  paused,  and  the  very  gentleness  of 

his  tone  struck  terror  to  her  heart.  "  Guard 
well  your  heart,  Little  Bud,  for  should  you  yield 
to  the  persuasions  of  this  golden-voiced  pleader, 
on  that  day  will  I  prepare  for  you  the  round 
ball  of  sleep  which  is  the  wage  of  the  faithless 
in  heart!" 

Shivering,  Chin  Yuen  lay  in  the  darkness 
after  he  had  gone,  wide-eyed  and  flushed  of 
face,  considering  this  new  cruelty  devised  by 
Li  Chong. 

Thereafter  followed  the  enactment  of  a  com 
edy  which  tickled  the  ribs  of  all  the  Chinese 
populace  of  Melbourne :  the  spectacle  of  a  high 
born  Manchu  diligently  wooing  a  slave  girl,  at 
the  bidding  of  an  erstwhile  coolie  from 
Shanghai. 

"How  goes  thy  wooing,  0  Hired  Lover?" 
would  gurgle  Sun  Yat  the  Soothsayer  mali 
ciously,  meeting  Chang  Tung  in  the  narrow, 
congested  limits  of  the  street  known  among 
the  Chinese  as  The  Street  of  a  Thousand  De 
lights. 

"Does  not  a  snail  creep  slowly  where  an  eagle 
flies  swiftly,  0  Interested  One?"  would  retort 
[253] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

Chang  Tung  politely.  "Yet  does  each  reach 
with  equal  surety  his  destination. " 

Tucking  a  sly  tongue  in  a  discreet  cheek,  Sun 
Yat  passed  on,  chuckling  with  mirth. 

* '  Truly  this  bit  of  scum  born  a  Manchu  talks 
with  a  brave  tongue ! "  he  confided  to  Li  Chong, 
whom  he  met  a  few  steps  farther  on. 

Li  Chong,  decorously  arrayed  in  the  rich 
black  satin  he  affected,  smiled  contemptuously. 
"A  crow  shrieks  as  loudly  as  an  eagle,*'  he  ob 
served  complacently.  "Yet  is  a  crow  always 
a  crow." 

"You  are  forgetting  that  Chang  Tung  the 
Manchu  was  born  an  eagle, ' '  reminded  Sun  Yat. 

Li  Chong  shrugged.  "An  eagle  consorting 
with  crows  takes  on  the  qualities  of  a  crow," 
he  announced  decisively.  "Though  Chang 
Tung  were  a  thousand  times  born  a  Manchu,  I, 
Li  Chong,  born  of  a  river  girl  of  Shanghai,  hold 

him  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand.     See "  he 

aimed  a  kick  at  a  dog,  unwisely  curious,  hover 
ing  at  his  heels.  "Chang  Tung  is  like  to  this 
dog,  broken  in  spirit." 

He  aimed  a  second  kick.  With  surprising 
suddenness  canine  teeth  met  swiftly  in  the  im 
maculate  silk  clothing  his  ankle. 

"Ahi,  Wicked  One!"  shrieked  Li  Chong  in 
wrath  and  pain. 

[254] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"You  erred,  Most  Honorable  Li  Chong,  in 
not  recognizing  that  the  dog,  while  travel- 
stained  and  weary,  was  born  of  a  good  breed, " 
pointed  out  Sun  Yat. 

And  then  it  was  that,  influenced  by  his  pain, 
Li  Chong  betrayed  the  reason  of  his  secret  cer 
tainty  of  Chang  Tung's  ultimate  failure. 

"The  Dragon  Brood  will  fail,"  he  asserted. 
"Is  not  my  wisdom  greater  than  the  cunning 
of  his  race?  Chin  Yuen,  who  weeps  forever 
in  the  silence  of  the  night,  knows  that  on  the 
day  she  yields  to  the  honeyed  words  of  the 
Manchu  she  passes  into  the  sleep  of  unending 
dreams. ' ' 

"But  .  .  ."  puzzled  Sun  Yat,  not  compre 
hending.  "Has  not  your  word  been  passed1?" 

"Said  I  how  I  would  turn  Chin  Yuen  over 
to  him?"  inquired  Li  Chong  keenly.  He 
shrugged.  "And  will  Chin  Yuen,  knowing  that 
to  do  so  means  unending  sleep  for  herself, 
yield  to  Chang  Tung?  Not  so!  Yet  will  they 
love  each  other,  these  two,  and  loving,  will 
suffer.  And  seeing  their  suffering,  the  soul  of 
Li  Chong  will  rejoice  in  this  exquisite  revenge 
over  a  haughty  Manchu." 

"Ahi!"  chuckled  Sun  Yat  in  sympathy.  "A 
most  delicate  sport,  truly,  and  devised  by  a 
keen  brain."  A  pause.  "Yet  upon  their  love 
[255] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

of  each  other  depends  the  success  of  the  jest," 
he  pointed  out. 

"How  many  moons  since  a  woman  has  looked 
with  kind  eyes  upon  Chang  Tung,  sunken  into 
the  gutter  from  which  my  mercy  has  lifted 
him?"  argued  Li  Chong  triumphantly.  "And 
the  Autumn  Breeze  which  sheds  its  sweetness 
beneath  my  roof  is  lonely.  Moreover,  are  they 
both  young,  and  young  hearts  reach  out,  each 
to  the  other.  The  heart  of  Chin  Yuen  will  re 
spond  to  the  silver  voice  of  Chang  Tung  the 
Manchu.  And  Chang  Tung,  loving  this  little 
Mourning  Dove,  will  urge  the  more  persua 
sively  a  suit  to  which  she  dare  not  yield.  Thus 
I,  Li  Chong,  will  afford  a  most  amusing  spec 
tacle  to  my  friends  and  also  win  for  myself 
five  years'  unpaid  service,  which  is  a  bargain 
worthy  of  my  wisdom. ' ' 

"Truly  are  you  most  wise,"  admired  Sun 
Yat.  "And  not  from  my  tongue  shall  leak  any 
information  to  spoil  the  sport  you  have  de 
vised." 

Songs  of  splendid  deeds  Chang  Tung  lavished 
upon  Chin  Yuen  in  the  intervals  they  were  to 
gether.  Gifts  provided  by  the  crafty  Li  Chong 
he  gave  to  her:  Bags  of  melon  seed,  boxes  of 
candied  citrous  fruits,  perfumes  from  the  far 
[256] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

East,  and  flowers  for  the  blackness  of  her  hair. 

Indifferently  Chin  Yuen  received  them  all. 
Except  for  a  growing1  tenderness  in  her  eyes 
he  apparently  made  no  headway,  and  in  the 
quiet  hours  of  the  night  her  grief  still  pursued 
its  course  like  some  mighty  river  unhindered 
by  the  flimsy  barriers  of  man. 

"Why  do  you  weep?"  inquired  Chang  Tung 
softly  one  night,  when  they  stood  together, 
after  a  just  finished  dance,  and  their  audience 
had  gone  back  to  the  gaming  tables. 

Chin  Yuen  lifted  great  unhappy  eyes  wet 
with  tears. 

"I  weep  for  all  I  have  known  and  loved,"  she 
told  him  wistfully.  "For  my  home,  the  happi 
ness  of  waking  in  a  knowledge  of  security,  and 
for — my  mother." 

"You  loved  your  mother?"  persisted  Chang 
Tung  gently. 

A  silence.  He  saw  the  strained  intensity  with 
which  her  fingers  clasped.  And  of  a  sudden  her 
smooth,  shining  head  bent  low  above  those 
straining  fingers. 

"My  mother  ..."  sobbed  Chin  Yuen  brok 
enly.  "The  life  of  a  Chinese  woman  is  not  all 
happiness,  My  Lord.  We  were  both  women, 
and  therefore  were  we  the  closer.  Like  sisters 
we  were,  held  in  a  bond  of  love  of  which  no  man 
[257] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

can  have  knowledge,  since  only  those  who  fear 
can  draw  close  in  mutual  need  of  protection. 
She  was  all  my  world,  my  mother,  and  I  the 
very  core  of  her  heart."  She  sighed.  " There 
came  then  a  spirit  of  evil  to  live  in  my  father, 
changing  him  from  kindness  and  love  so  that 
he  became  cruel  and  unkind  to  us.  All  that  we 
had  went  little  by  little  to  supply  him  with  the 
poppy  smoke  he  craved  .  .  ." 

The  sobbing  deepened,  Chang  Tung  making 
a  movement  of  sympathy. 

' '  My  father — though  he  bought  her  for  a  bag 
of  gold — loved  my  mother,"  said  Chin  Yuen 
pitifully.  "On  feast  days  he  would  give  her 
rich  gifts :  a  pot  of  lilies,  armlets  of  jade  per 
haps  .  .  .  Yet  one  day  he  sent  her  to  the  tem 
ple  gardens  with  my  brothers.  And  when  she 
had  gone  he  sold  me  to  the  men  from  the  city. 
And  I  went  away,  always  looking  backward, 
my  eyes  aching  to  see  that  face  which  had  been 
my  world  ..." 

A  pause. 

"And  then?"  inquired  Chang  Tung  gently. 

"She  came,  running,  beating  her  breast  with 

her  fists,  calling  to  me "  Again  the  low, 

muffled  sobbing. 

"Poor  Little  Butterfly!"  said  Chang  Tung 
[258] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

tenderly.  "Listen  and  I  will  play  a  song  to 
heal  thy  bruised  heart." 

He  played,  and  from  those  crystal-clear 
strains  came  the  elements  of  a  picture:  A 
Chinese  courtyard  thick  with  cherry  blossoms, 
the  sound  of  a  gentle  voice  singing,  herself  a 
tiny  child  essaying  the  first  steps  of  a  simple 
dance  .  .  . 

"Ahi!"  sobbed  Chin  Yuen  despairingly. 
"Your  music  is  an  ache  which  reaches  my  tor 
mented  soul." 

"In  your  heart  is  a  great  emptiness,"  coun 
seled  Chang  Tung,  "and  a  need  of  love.  Fill, 
then,  this  emptiness  with  another  image  of 
love. ' ' 

Then,  looking  down  closely  into  her  wide, 
dark  eyes,  he  sensed  an  unutterable  reproach 
which  laid  upon  him  a  sense  of  guilt  and  shame. 

"I  would  not  harm  you  .  .  ."he  stammered 
suddenly. 

"Yet,  without  knowledge,  may  one  wreak  dis 
aster,"  returned  Chin  Yuen  very  gently. 

Days  followed  in  which  Chang  Tung,  dili 
gently  urging  his  suit  upon  Chin  Yuen,  with  all 
Melbourne  Chinatown  watching  and  chuckling, 
its  tongue  slyly  tucked  in  cheek,  became  aware 
[259] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

of  an  added  feeling  of  doubt  and  mistrust 
which  sought  to  express  itself  in  words. 

"We  are  two  outcasts  far  from  all  we  have 
known  and  held  dear,"  he  said  to  Chin  Yuen 
on  another  night  when  they  stood  unobserved 
in  a  corner  of  the  great  room,  Chin  Yuen  droop 
ing  beneath  her  utter  weariness.  "And  be 
cause  of  that  my  heart  goes  out  to  you  like  a 
bird  returning  to  its  nest.  Yet  in  that  heart 
which  flutters  out  to  yours  is  only  tenderness, 
gentleness,  and  a  wish  to  protect.  Say  only 
that  you  love  me,  Little  Spent  Bird,  and  I 
will  take  you  far  away  from  the  cruelty  of  Li 
Chong."  " 

"He  does  not  know  .  .  ."  thought  Chin  Yuen 
unhappily,  remembering  Li  Chong  and  his 
threat. 

"In  our  country  I  was  once  a  Prince,"  per 
sisted  Chang  Tung  gently.  '  *  Did  I  return  there 
I  could  perhaps — who  knows? — regain  my 
rightful  place." 

"How  should  I  dare  lift  my  eyes  to  your 
greatness,  0  Manchu  Born?"  said  Chin  Yuen 
almost  inaudibly.  "I  am  but  a  slave  girl  of 
Li  Chong." 

"What  matters  it  if  we  love?"  challenged 
Chang  Tung. 

"You  do  not  belong  here,  0  Great  One," 
[260] 


urged  Chin  Yuen  in  confusion.  ' '  Return  to  thy 
high  estate.'* 

Chang  Tung  shook  his  head,  smiling.  And 
then,  touching  his  coat  significantly,  "Even  my 
clothes  were  purchased  by  Li  Chong  because  of 
a  certain  bargain  between  us,"  he  explained. 
"Shall  a  Manchu  break  his  pledged  word  and 
become  a  thief  as  well?" 

Later,  sitting  at  her  window  in  the  moonlight, 
looking  out  to  where  the  squalor  and  filth  of  the 
street  below  was  redeemed  somewhat  from  ab 
solute  ugliness  by  the  kindly  veil  of  moon  rays, 
Chin  Yuen  thought  of  her  talk  with  Chang 
Tung,  her  heart  summoning  his  image  in  all 
the  clearness  of  his  young  earnestness. 

"He  will  not  break  his  word  to  the  despised 
Li  Chong,  this  Manchu,"  she  reflected.  "Nor 
will  it  be  permitted  me  to  return  to  China  with 
him  as  he  desires  ..."  involuntarily  she  re 
membered  the  tenderness  in  his  voice  and  his 
promise  of  protection.  "I  wish  ..."  said  Chin 
Yuen  wistfully,  looking  out  into  the  night  filled 
with  stars  "...  that  I  might  go  back  to  China 
with  Chang  Tung,  who  is  a  Prince!" 

For  a  long  time  she  stared  out  into  the  dark 
ness,  visioning  happily  that  splendid  life  in  the 
Forbidden  City  with  Chang  Tung.  "I — I  could 
love  him,  this  Chang  Tung,"  she  sighed  at  last. 
[261] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

"Yet  if  I  love  Mm,  then  must  I  die.  And  if  I 
deny  my  love,  then  will  Chang  Tung,  with  all 
his  pride  of  a  Prince,  be  humiliated  in  the  eyes 
of  these  low-born  ones  .  .  .  wherefore  he  will 
flee  far  from  this  place  of  evil,  returning  un 
doubtedly  to  the  place  which  is  his,  and  wiping 
out  the  memory  of  the  stain  upon  his  pride 
with  great  deeds  .  .  .  which  is  as  it  should 
be" — she  paused,  overcome  with  sudden  bitter 
ness — "for  who  am  I  that  I  should  hold  back 
Chang  Tung,  a  Prince  of  China?"  she  finished. 

Thereafter,  with  something  of  the  despera 
tion  of  a  small  frightened  furry  creature  in  a 
trap,  Chin  Yuen  fought  against  her  growing 
loneliness  and  the  tenderness  for  Chang  Tung, 
which  threatened  the  wisdom  of  her  decision. 

And  when,  on  a  day  Li  Chong  was  absent  and 
they  were  alone,  overcome  by  yearning  she 
kissed  the  thin  curving  lips  of  Chang  Tung, 
she  fell  on  her  knees,  weeping  prayers  to  the 
gentle  Buddha  and  his  rival  Confucius  alike  in 
the  terror  of  her  frightened  youth.  Nor  could 
Chang  Tung  comfort  her. 

"Who  am  I  that  I  should  dare  lift  my  eyes 
to  your  greatness?"  wept  Chin  Yuen.     "For 
you,  0  Great  One,  are  a  Prince  of  China,  while 
I  am  but  a  dancing  girl." 
[262] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"You  are  the  rose  which  blooms  in  my  gar 
den  of  happiness,"  said  Chang  Tung  softly. 
* '  The  ray  of  light  pointing  the  way  out  of  dark 
ness  !"  Eaising  her  from  the  floor  he  held  her 
trembling  weight  against  his  breast.  "Let  me 
tell  this  tailless  horse  you  love  me,"  he  urged, 
offering  to  the  absent  Li  Chong  the  most  deadly 
of  insults. 

Chin  Yuen  moaned  with  terror.  "No,  My 
Lord,"  she  implored,  catching  him  frantically 
with  both  fluttering  hands.  "This  thing  which 
has  come  to  us,  this  flower  of  our  despair — it  is 
so  sweet.  Let  us  hold  it  close  in  secret  before 
revealing  it  to  the  evil  Li  Chong." 

"How  can  I  deny  you?"  sighed  Chang  Tung. 
' '  Yet  are  we  not  free ! ' ' 

"No  woman  is  ever  free,"  coaxed  Chin  Yuen. 
"For  just  a  little  while,  Lord  of  my  Heart?" 

Then,  at  his  nod  of  consent,  she  spoke  reso 
lutely  of  his  radiant  future,  painting  it  for  him 
in  glowing  colors  until  the  long  dead  fire  of 
ambition  flamed  to  new  life  in  Chang  Tung. 

"You  will  go  back,  My  Lord,  to  the  greatness 
which  will  be  yours?" 

*  *  I  will  go  back ! ' '  vowed  Chang  Tung.  ' '  And 
you,  0  Pearl  of  Beauty,  will  be  at  my  side." 

And  Chin  Yuen,  seeing  the  time  when  she 
would  dance  without  even  the  slender  comfort 
[263] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

of  Chang  Tung's  silver  flute,  passed  a  trembling 
hand  across  betraying  lips.  "I?"  she  let  her 
dark  head  droop  against  him.  "But  assuredly 
I  will  be  there." 

Then,  eagerly,  "Without  my  urging  you 
would  not  have  gone  back,  is  it  not  so,  Heaven- 
Born!" 

Chang  Tung  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "I 
had  sunk  so  far, ' '  he  murmured.  *  *  But  for  you, 
0  Flower  of  Great  Sweetness,  no  height  is  too 
steep,  no  road  too  rough  to  travel." 

Into  the  small  wistful  face  of  Chin  Yuen  came 
a  radiance  of  content.  "Even  to  the  smallest 
may  be  given  greatness  of  accomplishment," 
she  sighed  happily  into  his  ear.  '  *  And  is  it  not 
woman's  glory  to  work  through  the  strength  of 
man  rather  than  with  her  own  weakness?" 

Catching  the  fragrance  of  peach  blossom 
which  drifted  to  him  from  the'  smoothly  coiled 
hair,  a  tenderness  rose  up  into  Chang  Tung's 
throat,  choking  him  into  silence.  Silently  he 
put  out  one  long  slender  hand,  curving  his  fin 
gers  around  the  dimpled  wrist  hidden  in  her 
wide  sleeve.  Chin  Yuen  looked  up  at  him,  in 
her  eyes  a  rapture  of  adoration. 

"Softly  .  .  .  softly,  0  One  Who  Holds  My 
Heart  in  His  Hand!"  she  murmured,  hearing 
the  approach  of  footsteps.  "Else  Li  Chong, 
[264] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

that  despised  one,  will  guess  our  secret." 
"Sharper  than  the  thrust  of  a  dagger  .  .  ." 
thought  Chin  Yuen  to  herself  as  Li  Chong  came 
in,  "will  be  the  pain  of  denying  him  I  love — 
long  distant  be.  that  day ! ' ' 

But  in  spite  of  all  precautions  and  the  decep 
tive  appearance  of  indifference  the  lovers 
strove  to  display,  a  time  came  at  last  when  Li 
Chong  flung  patience  to  the  winds,  wearying  of 
his  own  sport. 

"Must  this  farce,  which  has  dragged  beyond 
even  the  limits  of  a  Chinese  play,  endure  until 
eternity  closes  down  like  a  lid  upon  all  crea 
tion?"  he  demanded  impatiently  one  evening, 
when  his  crowded  rooms  seemed  to  afford  suffi 
cient  audience  for  the  finish  of  his  carefully 
staged  comedy. 

A  hiss  of  excitement  followed.  The  elbowing, 
jostling  Chinese  turned  eagerly  from  the  tables 
to  crowd  around  the  unhappy  Chin  Yuen  and 
the  imperturbable  Chang  Tung. 

"Come,"  said  Li  Chong  roughly  to  the  trem 
bling  Chin  Yuen.  * '  Tell  this  boasting  Pekinese 
that  he  is  less  to  you  than  the  dust  which  stirs 
beneath  thy  footsteps  in  the  dance." 

A  pause.  Chin  Yuen  looked  toward  Chang 
Tung,  unwilling  to  puncture  his  proud  belief  in 
[265] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

her  love  with  a  few  brief  words.  In  the  eyes 
she  lifted  to  Li  Chong  was  a  piteous  appeal  to 
be  spared  from  this. 

Savagely  Li  Chong  gripped  her  frail  shoul 
der  with  one  malicious  hand,  provoked  to  rage 
by  her  continued  silence. 

"Has  the  kia  li  stolen  thy  worthless  tongue 7" 
he  questioned  sharply.  "Or  must  the  chasten 
ing  bamboo  caress  thy  feet  to  find  the  lost 
voice?  Speak  and  tell  this  Pekinese  he  is  less 
than  nothing,  merely  a  speck  floating  in  the 
sun  of  thy  happiness.  Then,  in  payment  of  his 
boasting,  shall  this  Heaven-born  One  slave  five 
years  for  me,  Li  Chong  the  Coolie,  as  was 
agreed — a  five  years  which  most  truly  shall 
seem  five  times  five!" 

Then  at  last,  hearing  his  flat  nasal  tone  ap 
portioning  to  Chang  Tung  five  years  of  misery, 
Chin  Yuen  understood  what  her  denial  of  love 
would  mean  in  reality  for  Chang  Tung.  Five 
years  the  slave  of  Li  Chong  even  as  she  her 
self  .  .  .  five  years  of  cruelty  and  longing  for 
death  which  would  irretrievably  break  his  spirit 
and  forever  rob  him  of  his  chance  of  becoming 
great. 

"No — not  that!"  whispered  Chin  Yuen  to 
herself  in  horror.  '  *  Not  for  him,  My  Prince.  I 
[266] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

am  a  woman  and  women  are  strong  to  endure. 
But  he — he  is  a  Prince  of  China!" 

Oblivious  of  the  staring,  curious  eyes  upon 
her,  she  thought  her  way  carefully  through  the 
maze  of  uncertainty  and  terror  engulfing  her. 
And  then,  surprisingly,  the  terror  left  her. 
"He  is  a  Prince  of  China  and  I  am  but  a  dancing 
girl,"  thought  Chin  Yuen  proudly.  "Yet  to 
him  can  I  give  the  gift  of  gifts — his  freedom!" 

"You  err,  0  Great  One!"  she  said  steadily  to 
Li  Chong,  finding  her  voice  at  last — a  pitifully 
husky  voice,  which,  for  all  that,  was  strangely 
clear  and  quiet,  ringing  to  the  farthest  outskirts 
of  the  avidly  listening  crowd.  "For  truly  in 
my  ears  the  voice  of  the  Manchu  is  like  sun 
shine  upon  flowers  drenched  with  spring  rain. 
And  is  my  heart  a  brimming  cup  filled  to  over 
flowing  with  his  image." 

Li  Chong  gasped  audibly.  The  veins  in  his 
neck  swelled  to  alarming  size.  His  voice  de 
serted  him  entirely.  His  hands  twitched  with 
eagerness  to  rend  Chin  Yuen  limb  from  limb. 
For  an  interminable  minute  they  stood  facing 
each  other  silently,  Li  Chong,  Chin  Yuen, 
pathetically  white,  and  Chang  Tung  the 
Manchu. 

Then  Wong  Ting  Fu,  himself  a  Manchu  born, 
[  267  ] 


THE  STREET  OF  A 

now  proprietor  of  a  seven-bunk  opium  layout, 
voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  listeners. 

"The  Manchu  wins,"  he  proclaimed  exult 
antly.  "By  your  own  terms,  worthy  Li  Chong, 
the  girl  and  a  hundred  pounds  English  are  his. 
"We  are  witness!" 

Li  Chong  swallowed  with  difficulty.  "To 
morrow  will  I  fulfill  the  terms  of  my  bargain," 
he  agreed  suavely,  terrible  eyes  upon  Chin 
Yuen.  "One  hundred  pounds  English — and 
the  girl  Chin  Yuen — to-morrow." 

Chin  Yuen  shivered  slightly,  half  closing  her 
eyes.  And,  looking  upon  her  fairness,  her  for 
lorn  youth,  and  her  unhappy  wistfulness,  Sun 
Yat  the  Soothsayer  spoke  uncomfortably  below 
his  breath.  "Truly  it  is  a  pity!"  he  muttered. 
And,  not  wishing  to  be  troubled  longer  with  a 
sight  his  knowledge  of  Li  Chong  rendered  sad, 
he  made  his  way  out. 

In  obedience  to  a  signal  from  Li  Chong,  Chin 
Yuen  also  moved  to  leave  the  room,  pressing 
close  to  Chang  Tung  on  her  way,  her  wide  eyes, 
seemingly  filled  with  golden  lights,  adoringly 
upon  his. 

' '  Soon  will  you  forget  the  misery  which  has 
been  yours  in  this  place,"  reassured  Chang 
Tung  tenderly.  "Until  to-morrow,  Beloved 
Little  Flower." 

[268] 


THOUSAND  DELIGHTS 

"Until  to-morrow!"  sighed  Chin  Yuen. 
Then,  lingeringly,  "You  will  go  back,  My 
Lord?" 

"I  will  go  back,"  promised  Chang  Tung. 

Lifting  his  silver  flute  as  she  passed  on,  he 
played  a  melody  which  laid  upon  his  audience  a 
spell  of  beauty,  holding  them  quiet  where  they 
stood,  a  melody  wistful  and  sweet,  with  a  note 
or  two  of  the  exultation  of  triumphant  hearts 
in  it. 

"It  is  a  Wedding  Song,"  he  said  when  he 
had  finished. 

Looking  toward  the  doorway  through  which 
Chin  Yuen  in  her  blue  satin  trousers  had  van 
ished,  his  thoughts  pleasantly  busy  with  the 
small  pill  of  uncooked  opium  he  would  shortly 
prepare,  Li  Chong  voiced  his  congratulations 
to  Chang  Tung  the  Manchu. 

"Until  to-morrow  .  .  ."  he  said  mockingly, 
and  turned  away  to  hide  the  evil  smile  upon 
his  thick  lips. 


[269] 


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